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HARRY LORENZO CHAPIN 



POEMS 



AND 



PLAYS 



BY 



HARRY LORENZO CHAPIN, M. D. 




(Jfeapitt 



THE SHAKESPEARE PRESS 

410 E. 32nd STREET 

NEW YORK 






*$v 



Copyright, 1915, 
By Anna Fries Chapin 



DEC 22 1915 

0>CI.A420028 



PREFACE 

It is quite necessary for me to mention in the preface 
of this volume that the play "Forsaken" has been 
adapted from excerpts of Spanish literature. 

I have endeavored to Anglicize the story by changing 
the names of the characters and have also put it in the 
form of a Drama, not with the intention of visualizing 
the characters of the plot on the stage, but for quiet 
perusal at home. 

Its prolixity compels me to resort to the printer's art 
instead of the producer's profession. 

The Drama entitled "The Royal Nurse" is a propa- 
ganda play endeavoring to expedite the glorious and 
noble cause of "Woman Suffrage." 

"The Love Test" is a sketch in one act, adapted from 
"Forsaken," giving the comedy aspect instead of the 
pathetic phase. You will observe throughout the poems, 
there has been much said about the loss of vision, "going 
blind," etc. The reason for this is that the author lost 
his eyesight through youthful peregrinations and many 
years of travel which took in every country in the world. 
While crossing the Syrian desert, from Damascus to 
Bagdad and on to Babylon, which occupied nearly a 
month of continual travel in desert winds or "sand- 
storms" as they are called, my eyes were so irritated by 
the sandstorms that I had what is called "Iridocyclitis" 
in both eyes, and, after recovering from the first attack 
at Bagdad, I continued my trip, employing a Turk and 
an Armenian and three dromedaries. I visited Babylon, 
Balbeck, Sumeria, the ruins of Nineveh, Bassarah, and 
from Bassarah detoured up the River Tigres to the tomb 
of Ezra, the Tower of Nimrod, thought to be the Tower 
of Babel. The beautiful plains of Mesopotamia, between 



PREFACE 

the River Tigres and Euphrates, was not so difficult to 
travel on as the desert between Damascus and Bagdad, 
where I encountered the formidable sandstorms that 
caused my eye trouble. Statistics at that time showed 
that one-sixth of the population of Syria and Egypt were 
blind, caused by "Glowcoma." Being a physician I 
should have taken more precaution, and worn the tar- 
bouch and turban, as the natives do, and as my drago- 
men did. Continuing my travels brought on the second 
attack of "Iridocyclitis," which impaired my vision to 
the extent that I was practically blind for nearly two 
years. 

After visiting every health shrine and every great 
ophthalmologist in the world, I returned to New York 
and was operated on by Dr. Arnold Knapp, who brought 
the sight of one of my eyes back to almost its normal 
vision. 

The restoration of my eyesight is what has impelled 
me to say so much throughout the book about the loss 
and regaining the sense of sight which can only be appre- 
ciated in value by those who have been deprived of it. 

"Light Relit" was written a few moments after the 
bandages were removed and I could see once more. 

I can firmly uphold the saying that after the loss of 
the eyesight, it stimulates a hitherto latent sense or 
sixth sense which is beautiful. There are not words 
enough in the English vocabulary to convey in words 
the inspired thoughts that can only occupy the mind 
when the vision has been taken away. History records 
that Democrates, the Greek Philosopher, put out his own 
eyes so that the physical environment would not divert 
the intellectual soul. 

Harry Lorenzo Chapin, M. D. 
Cleveland, Ohio, November 13, 1915. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Frontispiece — Author's Portrait 

Preface 3 

Poem — Light Relit 5 

The Royal Nurse : A Suffragette Play 9 

Poem — The Agnostic 51 

Forsaken : A Play Adapted from the Spanish .... 53 

Poem — Good-bye Forever 89 

Semeramus: A Spectacular Drama 91 

Poem — A Valentine for Valentine, by Anna Fries 

Chapin, with Portrait 114 

The Eccentric Philosopher : A Play 115 

Poem — Baby's Heaven 138 

A White Slave : A Two-Act Play 139 

Poem — A Friend 146 

Aggression Won : A Sketch 147 

Poem — Woman 155 

Poem — Anna and Harry 156 

The Love Test : A Play 157 

Miscellaneous Poems 173 

My Little Girl of Ten 173 

The Children's Crusade 181 

Ecclesiastics 185 

The Congress of Peace 189 

How England Got Her Name 192 

Mount Olympus 193 

Ode to Heloise 195 

Dual Significance of Gems and Flowers 197 

For Anna's Grave 198 

One Nocturnal Hour 200 

A Boy 203 

Minor Poems 206 



LIGHT RELIT 

(Written after regaining my eyesight.) 
Out of the Arcanum of darkness, 

Out of Erebus and gloom, 
Out of the shadow of stillness, 

Out — ves, out of a tomb. 

Out of a life that is lifeless,, 

Out of a dungeon of dearth, 
Out of a world that is wordless, 

Out of a Hell upon earth. 

Out of the musing of madness, 

Out of an eternal night, 
Out of the glooming and sadness, 

Out of the dark into night. 

In the oblivion of sweetness, 

Into the theatre of day, 
Back to the realm of brightness, 

Back — yes, ever to stay. 

Into Hyperions beaming, 

In the unpurchased by pelf, 
I have awakened from dreaming 

Into God's light and — myself. 

Back in the harness of pleasure 

I come, and the white holy dove 
Has perched on the orbs that we treasure, 

And has blessed me with Light and with Love. 

Now Life's as it was in my childhood, 

My sentence erased and rewrit ; 
I can rove in the village and wildwoods. 

Now the lamps of my Soul are relit ! 



THE ROYAL NURSE 

Copyright, 1914, by Anna Fries Chapin 

A MILITANT DRAMA 

IN 

THREE ACTS 



THE ROYAL NURSE 

CAST. 

Lady Hartwell, Militant Leader, formerly Royal Nurse 

Dr. Hartwell Her Husband, Court Physiean 

Prime Minister. 

Prince Alexander Pretender to the Throne 

The Queen. 

Prince Edward Her Son 

Warden. 
Medical Officer. 



Arson squad 



'Militant Suffragette 
Militant Suffragette 
Militant Suffragette 
Militant Suffragette 



Miss Watkins, 

Miss Smith, 

Miss Doyle, 

Mrs. Church, j 

Guards, Nurses, Heralds, Ladies-in-waiting and Maid. 

ACT 1. 
Room in Lady HartwelPs home. 

ACT II. 

Queen's apartment in town palace. 

ACT III. 

Compulsory feeding room, Royal Prison. 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 9 

THE ROYAL NURSE 

ACT I. 

Scene : 

(Secret quarters in the Militant Suffragette's 
home. Maps and charts on walls. Various souve- 
nirs and implements of persuasion used by them 
adorn a cabinet, up 0. Large double windows C. 
looking out on city. Royal palace on the distant 
horizon. ) 
At Rise : 

(A maid is seen ushering in Mrs. Church, Miss 
Watkins and Miss Smith. They are well-contrasted 
types of suffragettes. There is a manner of secrecy 
in their actions. ) 
Mrs. Church — The police are still shadowing us. 
Miss Smith — Do you think it is safe for us to meet 
here? 

Miss Watkins — Why not? 

Miss Smith — It might reflect upon Lady Hartwell, if 
she is to have nothing to do with this job. 

Miss Watkins — We must keep our president out of 
it. 

Miss Smith — Where is she now? 
Miss Watkins — She has an audience with the Queen. 
Miss Smith — How will she avert suspicion? Her fol- 
lowers will find us here in her home. 
Mrs. Church — Hadn't we better leave? 
Miss Watkins — No, she will take the elevator to the 
ninth floor and then walk down. Then she can see if 
anyone is following her. 

( Peculiar double ring is heard at the centre door. ) 
Miss Smith — There she is now. 
Miss Watkins — No, that's not the President's ring. 
(Peeps through keyhole.) 



10 POEMS AND PLAYS 

It's Miss Doyle. Be careful of her. She hasn't been 
fully initiated and tried out. 

( Door is opened and Miss Doyle enters. ) 

Mrs. Church — O, Miss Doyle, have you seen Lady 
Hartwell anywhere? 

Miss Doyle — No, but she telephoned me to be punc- 
tual today. 

Miss Watkins — Does she know anything about our 
new plans? 

Miss Smith — No, but she is always stubbornly op- 
posed to our strenuous methods. 

Miss Watkins — Well, of course, we all are. 

Miss Smith — She will be furious to find the Arson 
Squad meeting here. 

Miss Watkins — Still, if our petition is not granted — 

Miss Doyle — But it will be granted. Five million 
names ! Think of it ! 

Mrs. Church — It will mean a regal bonfire if it's ig- 
nored this time. 

Miss Smith — How will we know the verdict? 

Miss Watkins — Don't worry; we have sentinels all 
through the palace. Here are the different operations 
executed by the Arson Squad. The red spots are fire, 
the black mean assault. 

( She points to spots on map. ) 
Every time a fire has been authorized, appropriate no- 
tice has been forwarded to the occupants of the property. 
(She points to specimen copy of "Votes for 
Women.") 

Miss Smith — The Queen will be notified? 

Miss Watkins — The usual pamphlets will be scattered 
by the Literary Committee if it becomes necessary to use 
the torch. 

Miss Doyle — But why burn the palace? 



BYE. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 11 

Miss Watkins — It is the only logical point of attack. 
We have tried every kind of private and public building, 
but it has all had no effect on Parliament. 

Miss Doyle — But isn't it treason to offend royalty? 

Miss Watkins — Treason, if we're caught — triumph if 
we win. It is the only way to waken the stolid indiffer- 
ence of this apathetic government. 

Mrs. Church — Do you think Lady Hartwell will ever 
consent? 

Miss Watkins ( Pointing. ) — The majority of these edi- 
fices have gone up in smoke without her consent. 

Miss Doyle — What a becoming hat, Miss Watkins ! I 
dont know that I've seen any this season with that boat 
effect. 

(All the others laugh.) 

Miss Watkins — That's the new smokeless pattern. 

Miss Doyle — Smokeless? I see no cigarettes on it. 

Miss Smith — She doesn't catch on. 

Miss Watkins — It's a true militant hat, Miss Doyle. 
That dainty shape contains twelve ounces of nitrogly- 
cerine. 

Miss Doyle — Then what is this effect? 

( Pointing to Miss Smith's new bonnet. ) 

Miss Watkins — O, that's a taxicab hat. It has three- 
quarters of a pint of gasoline in it. 

Miss Doyle (As a sharp knock is heard at the secret 
entrance.) — There she is now. 

Mrs. Church — Perhaps she will have some word from 
the monster petition. 

Miss Doyle — (Receiving the password and ushering 
in Lady Hartwell, who does not remove her things. 
There is a general chatter of approbation. Lady 
Hartwell is attired in a smart street gown — a tall, 
auburn-haired woman of commanding personality. 



12 POEMS AX D PLAYS 

She returns the greetings, and all turn their looks 
of inquiry towards her. She answers their anxious 
faces with a negative shake of the head. This panto- 
mime answer is received with a murmur of deri- 
sion. ) 

All — A royal bonfire ! The palace ! The torch ! ( Etc., 
etc.) 

Lady Hartwell — No, my good women, this is not the 
way to win our cause. The Queen has not rejected our 
petition. I merely meant that I have no hopeful re- 
sponse to make you. We may have better news yet. 

Miss Watkins — But we are prepared to retaliate this 
time. You are tender-hearted because of your nearness 
to the throne. But for that very reason, the Queen 
should have shown you some consideration. 

Lady Hartwell — She may — she may. There is still 
time. The Crown Prince will intercede for me. 

Miss Watkins — Doesn't the fact that you were once a 
member of the royal household count in your favor? 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, yes, the boy loves me like a 
mother, but the Queen is very bitter towards our various 
arson outrages, as she calls them. 

( The other women begin to chatter revengefully. ) 

Miss Watkins — Ah, the palace next ! That's the only 
way to impress them. 

Miss Smith — I'm ready. A private wire connects us 
with the servants' quarters. 

Miss Watkins ( Gleefully. ) — And the telephone oper- 
ator is one of us. 

Lady Hartwell — Ladies ! Ladies ! This is emotional 
frenzy ! Let us at least wait until the final will of the 
king is expressed. 

Miss Watkins — We have waited long enough, Mrs. 
Hartwell. She has no intention of granting our petition 
or she would have given you her word. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 13 

Lady Hartwell — Edward has promised to let me 
know. 

Miss Smith — He is coming here? 

Miss Watkins — The Crown Prince? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, if the reply is a favorable one, 
he will send me word. If it is against us he will come 
himself. 

Miss Smith — Shall we wait, then? 

Lady Hartwell — No, I will send you word to head- 
quarters. 

Miss Watkins — We may get word before you do. The 
Queen's palace is being well patrolled by us. 

Lady Hartwell — Wait there. And above all else 
abandon the notion of resorting to fire, save as a last 
emergency; there are many intermediate steps before 
that. 

( Bell is heard to ring. Lady Hartwell ushers the 
women off L. as maid enters to respond to door R., 
letting in Doctor Hartwell.) 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, is it you, George? 

Dr. Hartwell — Not the subject of your expectations? 

Lady Hartwell — Well, to tell the truth, you are not. 

Dr. Hartwell — And that means I have a hated rival. 

Lady Hartwell — It's someone I love almost as much. 

Dr. Hartwell — They say a frank confession 

Lady Hartwell — O, you dear, Edward has promised 
to notify me of the Queen's decision. 

Dr. Hartwell — And he is coming here? 

Lady Hartwell — If the decision is adverse, yes. 

Dr. Hartwell — You must be very cautious in the 
event of disappointment not to betray State secrets. 

Lady Hartwell — O, I shall not let enthusiasm take 
me that far. 

Dr. Hartwell — It would be natural retaliation if she 
turns you down. 



14 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell — But it would incriminate us. 

Dr. Hartwell — Not even the Queen knows. 

Lady Hartwell — Think of it, our boy, a king. 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, we must be silent for his sake. 

Lady Hartwell — They shall never learn from me. 

Dr. Hartwell — It would be death to my place as 
Court Physician. 

Lady Hartwell — It would reflect no particular credit 
on my cause. I have never dreamed of using this pre- 
cious secret as a source of blackmail. 

Dr. Hartwell — O, I know you had not, but our feel- 
ings sometimes get the better of us. It's no harm to 
forewarn you. 

(Picking up "Votes for Women.") 
What's this? 

Lady Hartwell — The Arson Squad have been here. 

Dr. Harwell (Reads paper.) — And they are threat- 
ening to burn the palace? 

Lady Hartwell — I think I can restrain them this 
time. 

Dr. Hartwell — I'd rather you wouldn't permit them 
to meet in our home. 

Lady Hartwell — I've hinted as much. I asked them 
to wait at headquarters for the Queen's reply. 

(Bell rings.) 
It's Edward ! 

Dr. Hartwell — Perhaps it would be just as well for 
me not to be here. 

( Edward is ushered in. He kisses Lady Hartwell 
affectionately with sympathetic note in his man- 
ner.) 

Edward — My dear 

Lady Hartwell — I know, Edward, you needn't say 
the word. Your coming tells me that our hopes are 
blasted. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 15 

Edward — Dear old nurse, if I could only make it less 
disappointing. 

Lady Hart well — And there is absolutely no hope? 

Edward — Mother is so embittered by the depredations 
of your more aggressive members. I have used every 
argument. 

Lady Hartwell — O, I know you have, dear boy. 
(Telephone rings.) 
Yes, yes, this is the chief. Yes, his highness called; he 
is here now. No, no hope, but I shall not despair. Hello, 
hello ! 

(Closing 'phone.) 
Why they have hung up ! 

Edward — Were they asking for me? 

Lady Hartwell — It was our headquarters. 

Edward — That's strange. 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, Edward, I'm so worried. 

Edward — I am afraid there is something brewing. 

Lady Hartwell — Why? What do you mean? 

Edward — The palace grounds were strewn with mili- 
tant literature this morning. 

Lady Hartwell (Gasps in horror.) — They were? 

Edward — Yes ; mother took it to be a threat of some 
kind. 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, I'm afraid, Edward. I must go 
down to headquarters at once. 

Edward — Can't I take you in my car? 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, no, Edward, no. You go back 
to the palace at once to your mother. If anything hap- 
pens, look out for her. 

Edward — You fear something. What is it? 

Lady Hartwell — It is getting dark — I must hurry. 
Your mother, Edward, your mother ! Now go, go. 

Edward — Why not telephone the palace? You evi- 
dently think there is something wrong. 



16 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell (At 'phone. ) — 1500, please — yes, the 
palace exchange. What? Out of order? 

(To Edward.) 
Edward, go home at once, I beseech you; see that the 
Queen is safe. Now go. 

Edward — Why, what's the matter? 
Lady Hartwell — The wire is out of order. It's a bad 
sign. 

Edward — You mean that they are tampering with it? 
Lady Hartwell — Worse than that. They use the 
wires for electrical connections. 

Edward — Very well; I don't understand, but I trust 
you. Good bye. 

Lady Hartwell — Be careful of yourself, dear boy. 
(As he is about to exit, a single cannon is heard 
in the distance. She grasps his arm nervously. 
There is a pause.) 
Edward — The palace guns ! 
Lady Hartwell — What does that mean? 
Edward — One shot is an alarm for the guards. 

(Lady Hartwell rushes to double window C. and 
looks out towards the castle. ) 
Lady Hartwell — Oh, what has happened? 
Edward — Some one is evidently prowling about the 
grounds. 

(A second cannon is heard.) 
Edward (Rushing to window C.) — That means dan- 
ger ; try the telephone again ! My mother ! 

(Lady Hartwell goes to the telephone.) 
Lady Hartwell — Try 1500 again, please. Very ur- 
gent. What? Still disabled? Oh! Oh! 

(Hangs up receiver.) 
Oh ! Oh ! I'm very much afraid something is wrong. 

Edward — Strange none of the wires are working. They 
have a dozen private wires. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 17 

(A third report is heard.) 
A fire ! A fire ! In the palace ! 

Lady Hartwell — O, my God! 

Lady Hartwell (Again at window.) — I can see noth- 
ing ; it is very dark ! 

(Detective appears at window.) 

Edward — What is that? 

Lady Hartwell — A secret service man; they have 
been shadowing me all afternoon. 

Edward— You? What for? 

Lady Hartwell — Because I am their chief. 

Edward — Then this is their work ? 

Lady Hartwell — Of course, that is the natural in- 
ference. 

Edward — But I can establish your innocence. 

Lady Hartwell — My dear boy — you can only testify 
that I was here — they will still think that I am the insti- 
gator. 

Edward — I'll speak to this fellow. 

Lady Hartwell — Don't bother about me now. Hurry 
home to your mother. 

Edward (At window.) — There can be no danger. I 
see no flames. Surely their first thought will be for her. 

Lady Hartwell — But, my boy, you should be there to 
comfort her — and she will be so anxious about you. 

Edward — But you have no one. The Doctor is not 
here and I want to see what that man is up to. 

Lady Hartwell — O, my dear, we are accustomed to 
this espionage. 

(Secret door is tried vigorously. Lady Hartwell 
motions silence to Edward. ) 

Detective ( Off stage. ) — Open this door in the Queen's 
name. 

(Lady Hartwell goes to window C.) 

Lady Hartwell — There is a blaze. See, Edward. 



18 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Points out C. where small illumination can be 
seen on the horizon. Door is tried again. Lady 
Hartwell opens same. Detective enters. Several 
other officers in uniform fill the doorway and cover 
the window.) 
Detective — Lady Hartwell? 
Lady Hartwell — Yes. 

Detective — I have a Queen's warrant for your arrest. 
Edward — A Queen's warrant? 

Detective — Oh, your Royal Highness, I beg your par- 
don! 

Edward — I can vouch for this lady's actions. I have 
been here for the last half hour. 

Detective — But this is a warrant for royal treason 
and conspiracy. 

Edward — What has she done? 

Detective — She is charged with endangering the life 
of her majesty, the Queen. 

(The fire in the distance becomes brighter. Doc- 
tor Hartwell enters in time to hear the last few 
words. ) 
Dr. Hartwell — Why, Margaret, what is the matter? 
(To Edward.) 
Your Highness. 

Lady Hartwell — I seem to be in some way under 
suspicion. 

Dr. Hartwell — I feared as much when the palace 
took fire. 

Edward — Have you just come from there? 
Lady Hartwell — The Queen, the Queen ! Is she safe? 
Dr. Hartwell — Yes, she has taken to the castle with 
the entire household. Of course, the shock has upset 
her. 

Detective — Pardon me, please, but my orders are 
very imperative. I must serve this warrant. 



BYE. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 19 

(Second officer steps forward with handcuffs.) 

Dr. Hartwell — Surely this is not necessary. 
(Indicating irons.) 

Inspector — I'm sorry, sir, it's the law. 

Edward — But you can waive that humiliation in this 
case. 

Inspector — I have no precedent. The warrant reads 
explicitly — "arrest in chains." 

( Goes to 'phone and appears to call. ) 

Edward — Parole this lady in my care until we can 
communicate with the Inspector General. 

Inspector — I am afraid, Your Highness — the charge 
is too critical. You haven't heard the boldness of their 
latest plot. She will be arraigned before the Inspector 
General. All exceptions must be filed there. 

(Second officer attempts to place handcuffs on 
her wrists.) 

Dr. Hartwell — Stop ! This is too much ! 

Lady Hartwell — It is all right, dear. The man must 
do his duty. He has no option. 

Edward — He can surely wait until we get into com- 
munication with the Queen. 

Inspector (At telephone.) — What? On these wires? 
(To Edward.) 
Your Highness will be alarmed to know that the palace 
was set on fire by an electric cap ignited over the tele- 
phone wire. It would not be safe to let any one go iden- 
tified with the movement. 

(Starts to take Lady Hartwell.) 

Edward (Restraining Inspector.) (To Lady Hart- 
well.) I can't bear to see you placed in custody. I 
won't. 

Dr. Hartwell — Nor I. We have other means to use 
if it comes to that. 

Lady Hartwell — Sh ! George ! 



20 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Edward — What does Dr. Hartwell mean? 
Lady Hartwell — Oh, he is beside himself. It is all 
right, George. This will be cleared up. 

Dr. Hartwell — But think of the humiliation for both 
of us. We can put a stop to this ; we have the power. 
Edward — Then use it by all means. 
Dr. Hartwell — Come, Margaret, this thing must end. 
The Queen must know. 

Lady Hartwell — George, what are you thinking of? 
You would desecrate a sacred vow? 
Dr. Hartwell — It is justice. 
Lady Hartwell — It would be blackmail. 
Dr. Hartwell — Well, what do you call this flagrant 
insult? 

(The Inspector signals to the third officer. Lady 
Hartwell is handcuffed and removed by force. The 
doctor and Edward follow, protesting violently. The 
lights go out. In the darkness the distant confla- 
gration is very plainly seen. The bells and whistles 
of the city have set up a symphony of exciting 
sounds. Cannonading resumes. ) 
(CURTAIN.) 
(On second rise, the back wall is lifted and the 
palace burns furiously against the darkened dis- 
tance. ) 

ACT II. 
Scene : 

(Queen's reception room in town palace, luxuri- 
ously furnished.) 
At Rise : 

(Queen is reclining on couch, attended by ladies- 
in-waiting, who administer to her in a way indicat- 
ing her indisposition. ) 
First Lady — Would Your Majesty like me to read the 
morning paper? 



BY H. L. V H A P I N, M. D. 21 

Queen — Oh, dear, tell it to me ; do not bother to read. 
What is there of any interest? 

First Lady — The papers are all a unit in commending 
your disposition of Lady HartwelPs case. 

Queen — Oh, no more about that. My patience is sorely 
tried and my health ruined. 

Second Lady — But Your Majesty is recovering rap- 
idly. 

Queen — I shall never be myself again. 

Second Lady — O, Your Majesty ! 

Queen — What else is there in the papers? 

First Lady — There is considerable comment upon 
your relinquishing in favor of Prince Edward. 

Queen — What do they say? 

First Lady — Oh, everything that is lovely about 
Edward as Prince Regent, but their sympathy is centered 
upon you — deep regret and solicitude for your illness. 

Queen — All honey and soft soap ! They wish it were 
fatal. And about the Pretender to my son's place — is 
there anything of that? 

First Lady — Only the usual gossip. The press in gen- 
eral discredit it. 

Queen — And I discredit it. That is the reason I have 
made my son Prince Regent. 

( Royal messenger appears at door. ) 

First Lady (Returning to Queen.) — The architect 
begs to consult you regarding the restoration of the 
burned palace. 

Queen — I must not be disturbed with these details. I 
have appointed Edward for such duties. Let them con- 
sult the Prince Regent. 
(Enter Edward.) 
Ah, here he is now, dear boy ! 

( Edward goes to Queen and kisses her. ) 



22 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Queen — Edward, you must relieve me of all these nox- 
ious duties. The architect was just here. 

Edward — I will attend to everything, Mother dear. 
How are you feeling this morning? 

Queen — Very, very weak, my son. 

Edward — I wish I could persuade you to see Dr. Hart- 
well. He is the only one who understands you thor- 
oughly. 

Queen (With impatience.) — I though I forbid you to 
mention his name. 

Edward — But isn't this a foolish prejudice? 

Queen — He is that woman's husband. 

Edward — He has been our faithful physician for so 
many years. 

Queen — We will not discuss it, Edward, please. I am 
fatigued now, and I would lie down for a while. 

Edward — Very well, Mother. You may rely on me to 
attend to everything. 

(Ladies hurry to assist her. All exit except Ed- 
ward, who motions off stage and Inspector General 
enters off stage.) 

Edward — Well, sir. And now we may discuss the 
matter freely. 

Inspector General — I am so glad we need not annoy 
the Queen with it. The matter concerns you more di- 
rectly, at any rate. 

Edward — You say this Pretender challenges my right 
of succession to the throne? 

Inspector General — A Pretender merely. His house 
lias long been deposed. But he threatens to put up a 
claim 

Edward — On what possible grounds? 

Inspector General — None that have been intimated 
as yet. They seem to take no exceptions to your rule as 
Prince Regent. But when Her Majesty goes, then they 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 23 

make ominous threats, all in secret, of what they will do. 
They affect some damaging evidence concerning your 
birth. 

Edward — Ah, my birthright. I wish everything were 
as safe and secure in this kingdom as my lineal heritage. 

Inspector General — These things arise in every gen- 
eration. 

Edward — Oh, yes. I suppose that is the lot of regal 
life. 

Inspector General — It always has been, Your High- 
ness. A throne that was not coveted by some prowling 
Pretender would hardly have a standing. 

Edward — You have released the crown prisoner as I 
instructed? 

Inspector General/ — She is here, My Lord, awaiting 
an audience with Your Highness. 

Edward — My Mother need not know. 

Inspector General — As you say, My Lord. 

Edward — You may tell her that I will see her. And 
you will inform me, of course, of any further develop- 
ments in this rival aspirant. 

Inspector General — I will, My Lord. 
(Exit Inspector General.) 
(Lady Hartwell enters slowly.) 

Lady Hartwell — Edward, my boy ! 

Edward — Always your boy, I hope. 
(He kisses her.) 

Lady Hartwell — Ah, that sounds sweeter than you 
know. It was so good of you to release me. 

Edward — It was the least I could do. 

Lady Hartwell — But does the Queen authorize this 
action? 

Edward — She doesn't know. I was about to tell her 
of it, when she gave evidence of fatigue. 



24 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell — I'm afraid the palace fire has af- 
fected her health almost permanently. 

Edward — She may never get over it. But that is not 
your fault. 

Lady Hartwell — She will not see it so. 

Edward — I will convince her in time. 

Lady Hartwell — You are wonderfully good to me, 
my boy. I'm proud of you ! This is really more than I 
could expect of anyone but my own flesh and blood. 
(She eyes him closely.) 

Edward — Don't you think of me in that way? I never 
thought of you other than one of the family. Dear old 
nurse. The best years of your life were squandered on 
me trying to instill the first rudiments of youthful char- 
acter. 

Lady Hartwell — They were happy years, Edward. I 
am sure I could have no holier mission. 

Edward — But what you might have done for yourself 
in that time — you and the doctor. Oh, there's something 
about your devotion to me that makes me feel that you 
are nearer than nurse or governess. And you will al- 
ways seem so when you come near me. There is an in- 
tangible something that draws me to you. 

Lady Hartwell — I, too, have felt that tie, Edward, 
but it may be only my closer knowledge of your true self, 
my boy. I would be glad to claim such attributes as my 
own. 

Edward — When the Queen is more herself, I shall lay 
the case before her. I feel sure I can lead her to see it as 
I do. 

Lady Hartwell — You are very, very good. 
Edward — Meantime, you are paroled in my custody. 
I can stay your sentence almost indefinitely, and upon 
the event of my coming finally to the throne, I pledge 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 25 

you my sacred word the sentence shall be peremptorily 
revoked. 

(Queen enters hurriedly, not seeing Lady Hart- 
well.) 

Queen — Oh, Edward, Edward, see ! 
(Holds out paper.) 
Those insolent Pretenders are giving me no rest. This 
document was folded in a book sent me by post supposed 
to come from my stationer. 

Edward (Examining paper.) — There, there, Mother, 
be calm. This is only a repetition of threats they have 
been making in private. They are hollow and empty. 

Queen — But what shall we do to quiet them? 

Edward — I have already taken steps. The Inspector 
General is on their track. It is I they are aiming at, not 
you. 

Queen (Suddenly discovering Lady Hartwell's pres- 
ence) — What is this woman doing here? 

Edward — Why, this is my old nurse, Lady Hartwell. 

Queen — But she is not supposed to be at liberty. 

Edward — I have merely released her, Mother, during 
the preparations for trial. 

Queen — But on whose authority? I never issued such 
a writ. 

Edward — You forget you have vested this authority in 
me. 

Queen — Why didn't you consult with me? 

Edward — I couldn't, Mother, you were so fatigued 
I 

Queen — Fatigued, yes. And all as a result of this 
woman's fiendish work. 

Lady Hartw^ell — O, Your Majesty ! 
( She kneels before her. ) 

Queen — Margaret! Margaret! How could you? 



26 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell — I know it was a terrible thing to 
do. 

Queen — Then why did you do it? 

Lady Hartwell — You will not understand. I am 
only the leader of this great throng. But I am not 
pleading innocence. Our cause is bigger than any tem- 
poral thing. It is of far more consequence than my in- 
dividual career. We are fighting for the freedom of the 
ages to come. 

Queen — Then you are willing to lay down your life? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, if it must be. 

Queen — Then why appeal to me? 

Lady Hartwell — I come to ask you save, not my life, 
but the cause my life stands for. I ask you to pardon 
me, not for myself, but for the thousands of unborn 
souls, who lie, pent up in the tyranny we are struggling 
to put asunder. 

Queen — And you think this an honorable way to se- 
cure their liberty? 

Lady Hartwell — Let us not discuss the means. I 
have maintained that I am not responsible for the acts 
of my cohorts, but we would never agree on that. All 
that I seek is your royal clemency. Have I not some in- 
dividual claim to that, Your Majesty? 

Queen — After this heinous felony? 

Lady Hartwell — O, but surely that does not erase, in 
a night, the gratitude of my years of service? 

Edward — No, Mother, it can not. 

Queen — Are you aware that your act constituted im- 
perial treason? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, but I am also aware that 
nearly every other act of my life has constituted devotion 
of the most abject loyalty. Was I not the foster-mother 
to the prince, your son? Was it not my love that saved 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 27 

his life ? Was it not my milk that nourished his puny 
little frame back to health when all hope failed? 

Edward — Mother, every word she says is a charge 
against us. 

Queen — You cannot expect this claim to exempt you 
from a crime against the throne. 

Lady Hartwell — Is there nothing mightier than the 
throne? 

Queen — What do you mean, Margaret? 

Lady Hartwell — There are some claims that come 
before a royal title. 

Queen — Before the sovereign majesty of the throne? 

Lady Hartwell — We are speaking as woman to wo- 
man now. 

Queen — But you do not speak out. 

Lady Hartwell — O, if I were not pledged by my sa- 
cred word! 

Queen — Your word — I don't understand you. 

Lady Hartwell — I could shatter your power over me 
in a twinkling. 

Queen — You mean you would assist these miserable 
Pretenders? 

Edward — Margaret, what do you allude to? 

Lady Hartwell — Have no fear, my word is sacred. 

Queen — What nonsense is this? Your word! You 
are trying 

Lady Hartwell — I hold the destiny of your house in 
the palm of my hand, but I shall not betray you. I only 
ask a like favor of you. 

(Doctor Hartwell is ushered in by Queen's mes- 
senger. ) 

Dr. Hartwell — Has she pardoned you? 

Lady Hartwell — No. 

Dr. Hartwell — Then you have not told her? 

Queen — What is this mystery? I demand to know. 



28 POEMS AND PLAYS 

( Pause. ) 
Edward, you may excuse yourself. 
( Edward exits reluctantly. ) 
Is it something concerning Edward? 

(To Lady Hartwell.) 
That's what you mean — you can jeopardize his reign. 

Dr. Hartwell — How much did you tell her? 

Lady Hartwell — I don't want to tell her anything. 
I merely seek my unconditioned pardon. 

Queen — I have had quite enough of this insidious in- 
nuendo. As physician to th^ courts I command you to 
speak out. 

Lady Hartwell — Your Majesty, he cannot. He is 
under the same sacred oath. 

Queen — Is there a pledge more sacred than my will? 

Dr. Hartwell — I think Your Highness would hold it 
so. 

Lady Hartwell — Out of respect for the dead. 

Queen — You mean His Majesty? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, the king. 

Lady Hartwell — It was his desire that we keep for- 
ever silent. 

Queen — Then it does concern Edward? 

Lady Hartwell — O, Your Majesty, let's not pursue 
the subject. Your secret is safe with us. 

Dr. Hartw t ell — But you must revoke this terrible 
sentence. 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, Your Majesty ! 

Queen — Very well, I will pardon you on one condi- 
tion, that you tell me all you know and at once. 

Lady Hartw t ell — No, never. 

Dr. Hartwell — Why not, Margaret, if it comes to 
that? 

Queen — It is to save your own life. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 29 

Lady Hartwell — This secret will go with me to my 
grave. 

Queen — But your husband, what about him? 

Lady Hartwell — He will never tell, if I say not. 

Queen — Not after you are dead? 

Lady Hartwell — There will be no reason to tell then. 

Dr. Hartwell — If I speak it will be to save the living. 

Lady Hartwell — But you will not speak, Henry ! 

Dr. Hartwell — You ask me to give you up for a silly 
pledge? 

Lady Hartwell — But it was an oath taken on the 
head of my baby boy. 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, but that was twenty-one years 
ago. You have done your duty. You have kept it all 
these years. Surely it it not worth your life to preserve 
it. 

Queen — You had a boy twenty-one years ago? 
( Pause. ) 

( Lady Hartwell hangs her head. ) 
What became of him? 

Dr. Hartwell — I must tell her. 

Lady Hartwell — O, George ! If your oath to the dead 
is nothing, think what it would mean to him ! 

Queen — To whom? 

Lady Hartwell — To my son. 

( She shows that the word has slipped her tongue. ) 

Queen — Then your son is living. 
(Edward walks in.) 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, he is. That's the mystery. 

Queen — Then where is he? 

(Edward goes to Doctor. Queen notes likeness.) 
How much Edward resembles the Doctor! 

(Lady Hartwell hangs her head. The Queen ap- 
parently gets the meaning.) 

Edward (To Doctor) — Won't Mother pardon her? 



30 POEMS AX D PLAYS 

(Doctor shakes head.) 

Queen — Edward, I thought I asked you to retire. 

Edward — I know, Mother, dear. But the thought of 
this dreadful tragedy — I was so eager to hear — to help 
you decide. 

Queen — I have offered her freedom on one condition. 

Edward (To Lady Hartwell.) — Oh, can't you comply? 

Lady Hartwell — You don't know what they ask, my 
boy. 

Queen — You see, she will not meet me half way. 

Lady Hartwell (To Edward.) — It is something too 
sacred — you can't understand. 

Edward — Nothing is too sacred where your very life 
is concerned. 

Lady Hartwell — O, Edward, do you say that? If 
you could only know and then advise me. 

Edward — Why can't I know if it's of so much conse- 
quence? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, after all, why can't he? 

Edward — Oh, Nurse Marjy ! Say anything. Do any- 
thing that will save you. I ask it of you — for my sake. 

Lady Hartwell — Do you really want me to live? 

Edward — Yes, oh, please tell us! 

Lady Hartwell — I will tell your mother, then; but 
don't you stay, Edward. 

( He kisses her and exits. ) 

(Lady Hartwell sighs relief and resolves to 
speak. ) 

Queen — You will speak now? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes. 

Queen— Well? 

Lady Hartwell — I have said that in dealing between 
you and me there are some things mightier than king- 
doms. 

Queen — Yes. To what do you allude? 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 31 

Lady Hartwell — The heir apparent. 

Queen — You are needlessly vague. You have already 
hinted as much. 

Lady Hartwell — Well, let's be frank, then. Your 
son was a puny infant? 

Queen — Yes, he was not strong. 

Lady Hartwell — Did it ever occur to you that his re- 
covery was nothing short of a miracle? 

Queen — He came around promptly with every care 
we could give him. 

Lady Hartwell — And you never suspected any mys- 
terious agency in the matter? 

Queen — He had the divine right. 

Lady Hartwell — I do not refer to the divine right of 
kings. 

Queen — To what then? 

Lady Hartwell — To things mightier than the empire. 

Queen — I do not follow you. 

Lady Hartwell — You do not think that the Prince's 
recovery was miraculous? 

Queen — Well, suppose it was? 

Lady Hartwell — Suppose it were more than miracu- 
lous. Suppose he were dead ! 

Queen — My son dead! 

Lady Hartwell — Yes. 

Queen — But why invite painful speculation? Haven't 
you heaped enough misery on me as it is? 

Lady Hartwell — I am only trying to soften it for 
you. 

Queen — To soften what? 

Lady Hartwell — The truth! The boy you now call 
Edward. That is not his name! 

Queen — Not his name? 

Lady Hartwell — No. He is not vour son. 



32 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Queen — What nonsense is this? What proof have you 
for this preposterous assertion? 

Lady Hartwell — All the proof in the world, the con- 
sciousness that I, myself, gave him birth. 

Queen — You? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, and as a little babe he was 
taken from my side to replace yours. 

Queen — My Edward ! You are lying ! 

Lady Hartwell — I am telling you the truth. 

Queen — But this is merely your unsupported word. 

Lady Hartwell — Ask tho Doctor? 

Queen — But he is your husband. 

Lady Hartwell — Look at the boy himself. 

Queen — O, Doctor, is it true? 
(Doctor nods assent.) 

Lady Hartwell — Is he not the breathing image of his 
Mother? 

Queen — Of you? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes; and you, yourself, have fre- 
quently remarked it. 

Queen — In playful comment, yes. He is surely my 
own flesh and blood. 

Lady Hartwell — He is not. 

Queen — It would require infallible proof to establish 
that. 

Lady Hartwell — I hold that proof. 

Queen — Be careful, don't substitute another crime for 
the one you are about to be released from. 

Lady Hartwell — You recall the fatal illness that 
overtook your little son? 

Queen— Well? 

Lady Hartwell — Infantile paralysis. 

Queen — Yes. 

Lady Hartwell — I was confined on the same day. 
My baby was perfectly well. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 33 

Queen — Yes. 

Lady Hartwell — Your son died three weeks later. 

Queen — I still see nothing in this. 

Lady Hartwell — The certificate of my supposed son's 
death reads "Infantile paralysis/' and he was buried the 
same date. 

Queen — And you? 

Lady Hartwell — I was brought to the palace as im- 
perial nurse. 

Queen — Dr. Hartwell recommended you. 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, Your Majesty, it was the decree 
of the king. 

Queen ( To Doctor. ) — And you are her husband. Oh, 
this is some plot ! 

Lady Hartwell — No, it is nothing but the truth, your 
majesty. 

Queen (To Doctor) — Will you substantiate this state- 
ment under oath? 

(Doctor remains silent.) 

Lady Hartwell — He will. 

Queen — What could have concealed such a trick? 

Dr. Hartwell — The throne was at stake, your 
majesty. A successor to the royal house was threatened. 
There were other aspirants to the throne. The king com- 
missioned me to find an heir — a proxy prince to take 
your little Edward's place. 

Queen — Why was I never told? 

Dr. Hartwell — It was the king's wish. You were 
ill as it was. The shock of your child's death would have 
killed you, and His Majesty thought the secret safest 
in fewest hands. 

Queen — Why did you engage her? 

Dr. Hartwell — She insisted. It was the only condi- 
tion on which she would consent to the substitution. 
She wanted to be with her infant son. 



34 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Queen — But how was this kept from the rest of the 
household? 

Dr. Hartwell — We relied upon my wife for nearly 
everything. I did a great deal myself. There were many 
things that only she could be trusted with. 

Queen — But surely His Majesty — 

Dr. Hartwell — On his dying bed, I asked the King if 
I should reveal the truth to you. 

Queen — And he said — 

Dr. Hartwell — He died before I could obtain an 
answer. 

Queen — I do not believe this tale ! 

Lady Hartwell — Are we not the sufferers in sacri- 
ficing our own son? 

Queen — It is a fable hatched up to gain your present 
point. In either event you are a perjurer. You have 
trifled with the regal justice. Oh, I see it all now. 
( In a frenzy of hysterics. ) 

You are abetting these impudent Pretenders to the 
throne. You are trying to rob my boy? 
(To Lady Hartwell.) 

And you — a scheming imposter ! 

Lady Hartwell — O no, Your Majesty ! 

Dr. Hartwell — We have no desire to expose these 
things. 

Queen — No, you do not seek to rob me of a royal 
heir. 

Dr. Hartwell — But if we were not willing to give you 
our child the other side would have had clear access to 
the throne long ago. 

Queen — And there are no other living witnesses to 
this beautiful fiction? 

Dr. Hartwell — No, not one. 

Queen (Presses button.) — Then, I'll attend to this! 
(Guards enter.) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 35 

I'll see who dares to whisper such vile calumny of 
the heir apparent. I'll make an example of servants 
disloyal to the house they serve? 
( To guards. ) 
Off with them both ! 

(Guards seize Lady Hartwell and Doctor.) 
Queen — For her, my decree is the immediate execu- 
tion of her full penalty. For him, solitary confinement. 
Dr. Hartwell — For what, Your Majesty? 
Queen — For abetting this villainous woman. O, it is 
no less than a conspiracy. Off with them ! 

(Guards take both out as Edward comes in. 
Queen is seized with a paroxysm and collapses in 
chair. Ladies in waiting hurry to her. ) 
Lady Hartwell (Calling out, off stage.) — My boy! 
My boy ! 

Edward — What does she mean, mother? 
Queen ( Half in a murmur. ) — They have conspired to 
dethrone you. 

Edward — But why does she call me her son? 
Queen — Her son ! Her son ! Oh-ho-ho-ho-hoh ! 

(And she gives way to a paroxysm of moans and 
shrieks. ) 

(CURTAIN.) 



ACT III. 

Scene : 

( Hospital room in royal prison. Complete equip- 
ment for forcible feeding. The daily attempt is an 
operation. ) 
At Rise : 

(Medical officer and assistants with corps of 
nurses in the act of injecting liquid food into the 
mouth of a militant remonstrator. The officer has 
a bandaged head as a souvenir of previous experi- 



36 POEMS AND PLAYS 

ences. The procedure borders on the ludicrous, and 
the resourcefulness of the surgeon, added to the 
antics of the militants, offer considerable pseudo- 
comedy. He finally gives up in despair, however, 
and after fearfully taking her pulse, the patient is 
dismissed in a half- fain ting condition.) 
Medical Officer — Take her away. It is no use. 

( They remove militant to cell. 
Head Nurse — Are you ready for the next? 
Medical Officer — Who is next? 
Head Nurse — Number 27. 
Medical Officer — Lady Hartwell? 
Head Nurse — Yes. 

Medical Officer — But she is to be executed this morn- 
ing. 

Head Nurse — Yes, but we have received no orders to 
defer the regular feeding. 

Medical Officer — Let me see what condition she is 
in. Perhaps we can reason with her on her last morn- 
ing. 

(Nurses prepare for another patient. Warden 
ushers in Lady Hartwell, who shows the ravages of 
voluntary starvation. When she reaches operating 
chair she collapses into it.) 
Medical Officer — I don't want to go through this 
ordeal again, Lady Hartwell. Isn't there something we 
can prepare for you, some dainty morsel that would 
tempt you? There is nothing gained by a further dem- 
onstration of your courage. All that is past now. 
Lady Hartwell — All past? What do you mean? 
Medical Officer — The final order is given, Madam. 
Lady Hartwell — The order? I am to die? 
Medical Officer — Yes. 
Lady Hartwell — Whose order is this? 
Medical Officer — The order of the King. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 37 

Lady Hart well — Not Edward? 

Medical Officer — Yes. 

Lady Hartwell (in faint, exhausted voice.) — The 
King, the King. I must see him — I must see him. 

Medical Officer — But His Majesty is very bitter 

Lady Hartwell — He won't be when he hears what I 
have to tell him. 

Medical Officer — I'm afraid you cannot communi- 
cate with him now. It is too late. 

Lady Hartwell — No, no! The King! the King! 
Will no one take my message to him? 

Warden (Quietly.) — Our orders are life and death, 
Madam ; we dare not. 

Lady Hartwell — But I have something to tell him 
that means more than life and death. 

Warden — But we have no authority. 

Lady Hartwell — Can't you tell him this one word, 
that if he insists upon my execution — Oh, tell him the 
truth, I know his real mother. 

Warden — His real mother? 

Lady Hartw t ell — Not the queen, not the queen, not 
the queen ! 

Medical Officer (To Warden.) — She goes on this 
way every time she is up for feeding. 

Warden (Making sign of revolving wheels.) — Oh. 
they all get that way toward the finish. It's the chair. 

Lady Hartwell ( With supreme effort to speak above 
a whisper.) — I know that is what you think, but it is 
not the truth. I have something of great importance 
for the King. 

Warden — Why, according to your tale, he is not the 
King. 

Lady Hartwell — Something like that. Don't you see, 
I must have an audience with him. 



38 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Warden — Even if you could confirm your assertions, 
Lady Hartwell, we couldn't resist a royal decree. 

Lady Hartwell — But isn't there someone 

Guard (Enters and approaches Warden.) — Prince 
Alexander wishes to see you. 

Lady Hartwell — Alexander, the cousin to the King? 
(Warden looks questioningly at her and exits 
with the guard.) 

Lady Hartwell (To Doctor.) — O, Doctor, you can 
do this for me. Send for my husband. You and he 
were classmates. Send word to him that I need him 
here. 

Medical Officer — But your husband is in solitary 
confinement. 

Lady Hartwell — The Warden can fix that. 

Medical Officer — But, my dear lady, even if he did, 
there would be no time. 

Lady Hartwell — Not time? 

Medical Officer — The hour set for execution is ten, 
my lady. 

Lady Hartwell — But if you get word to him, a way 
will come, and I shall need his testimony. You can per- 
suade the Warden. 

Medical Officer — Shall I tell him you want him to 
come here? 

Lady Hartwell — O, it's no use, they won't admit 
him. 

(Medical officer exits as Alexander and Warden 
enter. ) 

Alex. (Eyeing Lady Hartwell, who reclines exhaust- 
ed in chair.) — What you say interests me intensely. 

Warden — And she sticks to the vagary that the Queen 
was not his mother. 

Alex. — Let me question her. 

Lady Hartwell (Noticing Alexander.) — 0, your 



BY H. L. G H A P I N, M. D. 39 

Highness, won't you do this for me? Every source of 
communication with the King is shut off. 

(She gasps.) 
Take the message 



Alex. — Yes, yes — you want me to tell him 

Lady Hartwell — Tell him that I 

(Almost faints away.) 

Alex. — She has fainted. 
(Nurses attend her.) 

You say she contends that Edward is not the Queen's 
issue? 

Warden — We have all heard her murmur it time and 
again. 

Alex. — This woman's death sentence must be stayed. 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, Prince Alex ! You will do this? 

Warden — But, sir, we have final orders. 

Alex. — Nevertheless, we must find a way. 

Warden — The order must come from the King, your 
Highness. 

Alex. — I do not want a pardon, I merely ask a stay. 

Warden — His Majesty, or perhaps the Prime Minis- 
ter. No other word is law now. The sentence has been 
passed and the hour set. 

Alex. — The Prime Minister will be here. I am ex- 
pecting him. 

Lady Hartwell — Edward, Edward! I must see the 
King! 

Alex. — Are you not aware that His Majesty is bit- 
terly vexed with you since the Queen's death? 

Lady Hartwell — But what I have to say to him is 
of paramount importance. 

Alex. — He is afraid of you. He attributes his 
mother's death to you. 

Lady Hartwell — To me? 

Alex. — Well, to the burning of the palace. 



40 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell — But I should not die for that ! 

Alex. — He is the one who ordered your death. 

Lady Hartwell — Edward ordered it? 

Alex. — Yes, I heard him pass the word. 

Lady Hartwell — But how am I to believe all this of 
you when I know your motive to be biased? 

Alex. — The Prime Minister will be here. You can be- 
lieve him. 

Lady Hartwell — The Prime Minister? O, tell him 
to hurry ! Perhaps he can stay my sentence. 

Warden — He is here now, My Lord. 
(Enter Prime Minister.) 

Alex. — Ah, Your Lordship, it is exactly as we had 
claimed all along. This woman knows that the Queen 
is not Edward's mother. 

Prime Minister — Can she prove it? 

Alex. — She must know! She was the royal nurse. 

Prime Minister — But will she testify? 

Lady Hartwell — Is it true that the Crown Prince 
is provoked — that he is afraid of me? 

Prime Minister — The Queen's death has entirely al- 
tered him. He is a very bitter man. 

Lady Hartwell — Toward me? 

Prime Minister — Yes. 

Lady Hartwell (Faltering.) — And it was he — my 
Edward, who ordered my — my — execution? 

Warden (To Alex.) — Your Highness, the time is prac- 
tically up. We have no authority to delay. 

Alex. (To Prime Minister.) — Can't you stay the sen- 
tence till I have time to do this? 

Prime Minister — I hesitate to interfere 

Alex. (Appealing to Warden.) — You can surely wait 
till I advise with counsel? 

Warden — It would be no less than treason itself if we 
failed to obey this imperative command. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 41 

Alex. — Then listen to me. Defer this sentence at my 
instance. I issue the order. 

Warden — You issue it? 

Prime Minister — My Lord, do not be premature in 
your exercise of 

Warden (To Prime Minister.) — What am I to do? 
The time is up. 

Prime Minister — The question is a vexing one. It is 
best to delay. 

Alex. — What that woman says is the truth. Edward 
is a false usurper. I am the rightful sovereign and 
successor to the throne. 

(All is consternation; even Lady Hartwell shows 
astonishment. ) 

Alex. (To Lady Hartwell.) — Do you hear, my good 
woman? What you have said establishes my rank. 

Lady Hartwell — What have I said? 

Alex. ( With emphasis. ) — That the Queen was not his 
mother. 

Lady Hartwell — But I didn't say who his mother 
was. 

Alex. — If she were any other than the late Queen, 
Edward is a false heir, is he not? 

Lady Hartwell — O, Edward, I want to see him. I 
want to speak with him ! 

Alex. — But he has ordered your execution. Here is 
your chance of freedom. 

Lady Hartwell — I am willing to die for my cause. 

Alex. — But even your cause can only prosper by your 
living. 

Lady Hartwell (Weakly.) — How do you mean? 

Alex. — As the new monarch, I sanction the bill. 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, the Prince once promised that 



Alex. — Suppose I give you my warranty of this? 



42 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Lady Hartwell — But you are not King yet. 

Alex. — I shall be the moment you testify. 

Lady Hartwell — What good will my word be? 

Alex. — You are the only existing witness to the fraud 
perpetrated upon this throne. 

Lady Hartwell — Who says I am? 

Alex. — You have admitted it. All that we ask is that 
you testify against this impostor. 

Lady Hartwell — You don't want me to say who the 
mother is? 

Alex. — We are not concerned with that. It is suffi- 
cient that Edward is not the rightful heir, and that you, 
as royal nurse, declare it so. 

Lady Hartwell ( Reflecting in an exhausted manner. ) 
— And he ordered my execution? 

Alex. — Yes, he did! 

Lady Hartw t ell — But my unsupported word would 
not depose him? 

Alex. — Yours and the Court Physician's would. 

Lady Hartwell — O, where is my husband? 

Alex. — We will send for him. 

Lady Hartwell — Can you count on him? 

Alex. — You control that. He would certainly sup- 
port your cause. He is your own husband. 

Lady Hartwell — O, then, you haven't consulted him? 

Alex. — No, we leave all that to you. You want your 
freedom. 

Lady Hartwell — Yes. 

Alex. — Aud your cause you hold even dearer than 
life. 

Lady Hartwell — I do. 

Alex. — Well, then, give us your testimony when we 
call for it, and all will be well. 

Lady Hartwell — You will claim the throne then? 

Alex. — Yes. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 43 

Lady Hartwell — And what will become of Edward? 

Alex. — He must establish any claims he may profess. 

Lady Hartwell — No other harm will come to him? 

Alex. — None whatever. 

Lady Hartwell — He will not be exiled? 

Alex. — No. 

(Guard enters.) 

Guard — Dr. Hartwell to see Lady Hartwell. 

Alex. — Tell him to enter. 

( Enter Doctor Hartwell in prison garb. He rush- 
es to Lady Hartwell. They embrace. ) 

Lady Hartwell — George! 

Dr. Hartwell — My darling ! You are still alive ! 

Alex. — Ah, My Lord, you are just in time. 

Lady Hartwell — O, George, George, they are trying 
to persuade me to reveal our secret. 

Dr. Hartwell — Can it do any good now? 

Alex. — It will establish my right to the throne. I 
have pledged my word to waive this sentence, in fact, 
I have virtually stayed her sentence. As you see, the 
hour for execution is past. 

Dr. Hartwell — Margaret, there is nothing else to do. 
You have guarded your secret long enough. We have 
exhausted every measure with the King. You have asked 
an audience. Even that was refused. 
(Enter Warden hurriedly.) 

Warden — The King ! He is in a rage ! 

(Enter heralds of the King, then Edward.) 

Edward — What does this mean? It is past the hour, 
and no bell — no execution ! 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, Edward, my boy, my boy ! 

Edward (Waving her off with indifference.) — What 
is the meaning of this delay? 

Warden — Your Majesty, I was ready, but the Prime 
Minister 



44 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Edward looks to Prime Minister and the latter 
looks to Alexander.) 

Alex. — I have the honor to inform you, cousin, that 
jour order was countermanded. 

Edward — Countermanded? By whom? 

Alex. — By me, Sir ! 

Lady Hartwell — Oh, Edward, have mercy ! 

Edward (Waves her off.) — Enough, woman! I am 
forever done with you ! 

Lady Haetwell — Oh, Edward, Edward ! If you only 
knew ! 

Alex. (To Prime Minister.) — My Lord, as Prime 
Minister to the throne, I announce to you my immediate 
accession to it. No rightful heir interposes. 

Edward (To Prime Minister.) — Be good enough to 
explain this audacity. 

Prime Minister — Prince Alexander makes a formal 
challenge of your title as successor to the throne. 

Edward — This is nothing new; he has repeatedly of- 
fered this insult. 

Prime Minister — But he appears to have evidence 
now that we cannot afford to overlook. 

Edward — What evidence? 

Prime Minister — It seems, this lady 



Edward — And who, may I ask, does he propose 

Prime Minister — Himself, Your Majesty. He offers 
you the opportunity to abdicate quietly. 

Edward — An unheard-of piece of effrontery. 

Prime Minister — On the contrary, it is the better part 
of wisdom to consider his claim. 

Edward — Without so much as a public hearing? 

Prime Minister — There is no harm in listening to his 
claim. 

Edward (To Alex.) — Pray, by what means do you 
vainly hope to establish it? 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 45 

Alex. — By the only living witnesses of your birth. 
Edward — My birth? 

Prime Minister — Yes, it is the contention that you 
are not of royal issue. 

Edward — And am I not to be properly represented by 
counsel? 

Prime Minister — Yes, of course, if you persist in a 
formal hearing, but in the event that the evidence is 
manifestly sound and complete, we may deem such a 
formality inadvisable. I say in the event 

Edward — And has such a course ever been pursued? 

Prime Minister — We have no precedents to go by. 

Edward — As my rightful adviser, would you honestly 
recommend such a course to me? 

Prime Minister — It seems that constitutionally I 
have no alternative. The evidence is restricted to the 
two available witnesses. If these are overwhelmingly 
against you, there remains no choice. 

Edward — And you see no reason why these same wit- 
nesses, royal prisoners, should be prejudiced against 
me? 

Prime Minister — Nevertheless, their word would be 
recognized, and if their evidence is against you, it will 
answer everything because they happen to be the only 
possible witnesses. There is nothing but added dis- 
honor in open disclosure. 

Edward — Well, I cannot accept your recommenda- 
tion. 

Prime Minister — But you are willing to hear your 
opponent's testimony? 

Edward — I suppose if there is no other way. 

Prime Minister — The only alternative is merely the 
public proclamation of your successor. 

Edward — Is the king deposed so readily? 

Prime Minister — The burden of proof may rest with 



46 POEMS AND PLAYS 

you if the charge is against your birthright. According 
to the laws of this kingdom, the rightful heir is de- 
fended by the empire. Unless you can refute these wit- 
nesses Alex, becomes the rightful heir. Perhaps you 
will do him the honor to listen to the first of the oppos- 
ing witnesses. 

Edward — Who may that be? 

Prime Minister — Your devoted foster-mother, Lady 
Hartwell. 

Edward — What ? 

Alex. — You seem surprised? 

Edward — Nurse Margaret! Has she volunteered to 
testify against me? 

Alex. — Have you not given her every provocation? 

Prime Minister — You must not tend to bias the wit- 
ness. 

Alex. — She has the cause of the kingdom at heart. 

Edward — I do not believe she would enter into this 
base collusion. 

Alex. — Perhaps you prefer the truth from her own 
lips. 

Edward — Oh, no; this is too terrible. You have 
bribed her with some false hope of clemency, contingent 
upon your usurption of the throne. 

Prime Minister — We must not parley, gentlemen. 
Let the witness be called. 

Edward — O, Margaret, is it true what they tell me? 
Have you fallen prey to the craft of these imposters? 

Prime Minister — Please, Your Majesty, do not at- 
tempt to lead the Avitness. 

(To Lady Hartwell.) 
You were the sole witness, you say, to the fraud that 
foisted a false incumbent upon the throne of this mon- 
archy? 

Edward — Did you say so, Margaret? 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 47 

Prime Minister (To Edward) — Again I must ask you 
to desist, Your Majesty. 

Alex — Your questions are calculated to dissuade the 
witness. 

Dr. Hartwell — Come, Margaret. It is your only 
hope of liberty. 

Alex. — We merely want you to repeat what we have 
already heard you say. 

Edward — Margaret, surely if there was anything, you 
would have told me first. 

Lady Hartwell — My boy, I tried to get word to you 
this morning, but all paths were closed. 

Prime Minister — We are wasting time. If you in- 
tend to testify, let us proceed. 

(Pause. To Dr. Hartwell.) 
Perhaps you will speak for her, Dr. Hartwell. 

Edward ( Noticing the doctor for the first time. ) — Dr. 
Hartwell! O, this is some collusion. Both prisoners 
being used as witnesses. 

Prime Minister — You were Court Physician at the 
time? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes. 

Prime Minister — You were then the husband of Lady 
Hartwell? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes. 

Prime Minister — Will you tell your story? 

Dr. Hartwell (Clearing his throat.) — The Queen 
was critically ill after her accouchment. 

Lady Hartwell ( In half-smothered cry. ) — O, George, 
George ! 

Prime Minister — At which you officiated? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes. 

Prime Minister — And what about the heir? 

Dr. Hartwell — The child seemed to imbibe its 
mother's malady. 



48 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Prime Minister — You were also attending the child? 

Dr. Hartwell — Yes, I was in complete charge. 

Prime Minister — Go on. 

Dr. Hartwell — The moment arrived when I feared it 
was impossible to save the life of the infant 

Edward — Margaret, is this all an utter fiction? 

Dr. Hartwell — In desperation, His Majesty dele- 
gated nite to 

Lady Hartwell — George ! George ! I can't let you ! 

Dr. Hartwell — But your life and my liberty are at 
stake ! 

Edward — Margaret, this suspense is terrible; tell me 
the truth ! 

( He becomes frenzied. ) 

Lady Hartwell — Stop, George! Not another word! 
(She soothes Edward.) 

Alex. — But we can compel him to speak. He is the 
Court Physician. 

Lady Hartwell — But he is my husband. 

Prime Minister — What difference does that make? 

Lady Hartwell — I forbid his testimony. 

Alex. — You forbid it? 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, I forbid it. 

Alex. — But I command him to speak. 

Lady Hartwell — You do not command him to speak 
without my consent. 

Alex. — I am rightful monarch here ! 

Lady Hartwell — You shall never be if I can prevent 
it. 

Edward — Margaret, Margaret! You can't injure me, 
can you? 

Alex. — The law permits a Court Physician to testify 
against a felon. 

Lady Hartwell — But the law does not permit a hus- 
band to testify against his wife. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 49 

Prime Minister — You admit then that the evidence is 
derogatory? 

Lady Hartwell — I admit nothing. 

Alex. — But we can make you speak. 

Lady Hartwell — You cannot make me incriminate 
myself. 

Prime Minister — You confess that it would be in- 
criminating. 

Lady Hartwell — I confess nothing. 

Alex. — But there are many others who have heard 
you. 

Lady Hartwell — They must still prove their case. 

Prime Minister — And these two are your only two 
eye-witnesses? 

Alex. — You mean to say? 

Prime Minister — You have no case. Where are your 
witnesses? 

Edward — Then you will proceed to depart. 
(Going to Lady Hartwell.) 
I desire a word with this lady. 

( Prime Minister, Alex, and all other except War- 
den exit reluctantly.) 

Warden — And the prisoner? 

( Indicating Lady Hartwell. ) 

Edward — Erase every record from your files that this 
lady or her husband ever were your prisoners. 
(Exit Warden and Dr. Hartwell.) 

Lady Hartwell — O, my boy, my Edward ! 
( They embrace. ) 

Edward — Mother ! And you have kept your secret all 
this time? 

Lady Hartwell — How did you surmise? 

Edward — By the sacrifice you have made. 

Lady Hartwell — The sacrifice? 

Edward — Yes, even though I condemned you, you 



50 P E MS AND PLAYS 

were willing to risk the cause you hold dearer than life 
to preserve my secret. 

Lady Hart well — Then you understood? 

Edward — Yes. 

Lady Hartwell — I was willing to surrender my cause 
for such a son. 

Edward — And I am ready to relinquish my title for 
such a mother. 

Lady Hartwell — But there is no need of that. 

Edward — We could not continue this deception. 

Lady Hartwell — My dear boy, isn't it all a game of 
might makes right? You simply hold the power to main- 
tain the title. 

Edward — But I would prefer to abdicate and pro- 
claim my true kinship to my blessed mother. 

Lady Hartwell — You can render that mother more 
service where you are. 

Edward — I have always favored your cause, but not 
the militant methods. 

Lady Hartwell — Nor I — I am their chief; but, you 
understand, I cannot control the individuals. Some of 
us are primitive. They have had no opportunity to 
evolve. 

Edward — And yet the nation accepted your son as its 
monarch. 

Lady Hartwell — Yes, the son of one of these un- 
evolved creatures. It only goes to show what wonders 
a little opportunity might work for womanhood. 

Edward — But beneath it all is the true province of 
woman — she is the mother of men. I can use my author- 
ity to foster that sacred office. 

Lady Hartwell — Then you must continue to rule. 
Be a monarch of all this nation, not half of its popula- 
tion. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 51 

Edward — What a godsend that made you the royal 
nurse ! 

Lady Hartwell — And you, my son ! 
Edward — Mother ! 

{CURTAIN.) 



THE AGNOSTIC 

"Hope springs eternal" in his breast, 
He does not say there is no God, 

Where is the proof? — he wants the test 
He only reads of Aaron's rod, 

He does not know — he hopes the best. 

He only hopes the Scripture true, 
Nor does he say there is no heaven ; 

He only knows — the best to do 

Is do your best while you are living. 

The rest will come to you. 

Until he comes, to where he goes, 
He's not to know of worlds to come, 

To death — to dust — it plainly shows, 
As far as we can see, 'tis done. 

The rest, God only knows. 



52 POEMS AND PLAYS 



REST 

Now may I rest — the sun is in the west, 

This day I've strived, now let me rest. 

Rest is the sequel of the laboring form, 

Peace is the goal of every maddening storm. 

The bloodiest battle isn't fought for gore, 

The sword, the blade of peace, to harmony restore. 

Niagara's roars by its own will would cease, 

Its waters rush below to lakes of peace. 

And so we strive, nor should we o'er it brood, 

It's our only way to secure eternal quietude. 



TOYS 

Those toys I see. 
Where may the owner be, 
Whose little fingers built 
Castles to fall again ? 
A flower thou wast to be — 



A bud, tho' all to me, must wilt- 
Must die and go. 
Where — I do not know, 
Since from my child bereft 
My youthful boon. 
The one these toys mused 
There all — tho' never used — 
That's left. 



BY H. L. H A P I N, M. D. 53 

FORSAKEN 

(Adapted from the Spanish.) 

CAST. 

Emanuel Faber Husband of Zella 

Joseph Tabor Friend of Emanuel 

Zella Faber Wife of Emanuel 

Mary Hammond Maid 

James Hawkins Friend of Mary's 

Dr. Calvin Family Physician 

ACT I. 

Scene : 

(A garden or front yard of Emanuel's home. 
Emanuel is sitting on a rustic bench. Joseph en- 
ters attired in hunting accoutrements.) 

Joseph — Dear friend, I am well aware of the fact that 
you are not fond of this kind of sport. Although you 
can easily acquire the fondness for the chase, and be- 
come a nimrod like myself. Still, many times in the 
past you have gone with me and diligently trod the 
woods and fields, not for pleasure, but to please. 

Emanuel — Dear friend, be seated, and spend a few 
moments socially with me. That will really please me, 
for I have something to say to you which is of great im- 
portance. 

Joseph — I have come at your solicitation, thinking 
I would go hunting after we were through visiting, but, 
at your request, I will listen to what you have to say, 
with enthusiasm, for you and I have been the very best 
of friends since we were children. As you well know, 
our constant companionship has gained the title for us 
that we so richly deserve: "The Inseparables." Our 



54 POEMS AND PLAYS 

progenitors were equally deserving of that double ap- 
pellation, which should prenatally endow us with broth- 
erly zeal. 

Emanuel — Yes, dear friend Joseph, and to remain 
true friends we should go and come, give and take. We 
should strive to please if not pleased, to both shield and 
to shoulder each other's frailties and burdens. 

Joseph — Your philosophy coincides with mine. I 
agree with you on what you have now said. We must 
even go out of our way to mitigate each other's sorrows 
or enhance our happiness, as we have been such insep- 
arable friends for so long. Now we have grown to man's 
estate, we must for pleasant memories of the past studi- 
ously toil to please each other. 

Emanuel — I have a surprise for you, Joseph. I really 
have two — but I will reserve one until the psychological 
moment arrives to divulge one. 

Joseph — Proceed; I am all ears. 

Emanuel — I have been married two weeks ago today. 

Joseph — To Zella. 

Emanuel — Yes, to Zella, our neighbor's beautiful 
daughter, Zella Cammeron. 

Joseph — Lucky man, let me congratulate you. Zella 
Cammeron, if I am a connoisseur of womanly beauty, is 
the belle of the city. 

Emanuel — I love Zella. I have always loved her. 
She has so many redeeming features and so few faults, 
I cannot restrain from commending her many virtues 
to you and to her. I also love you, dear friend Joseph, 
but of course you understand the difference in the love 
of friends and the love for the opposite sex. Zella is my 
ideal of youthful womanhood. Her manners and man- 
nerisms, her figure and deportment; she is physically 
handsome and intellectually beautiful. Although loving 
and cherishing her as I do, I feel that it becomes my duty 



BY H. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 55 

to you as a friend to not only acquaint you of the fact, 
but to ask you if you approve wholly and solely of my 
impending contemplations? 

Joseph — Do not present me with any question of do- 
mestic profundity, for you know what my attitude has 
always been toward woman. I am a misognymist — a 
woman hater ; but in this case I will view it subjectively 
and to its most logical sequence. So you may proceed. 

Emanuel — Joseph, you are rich and at the age where 
you should arrive at the same conclusions that I have, 
and emulate me by finding a woman that would merit 
your manly worthiness. I know one with your redeem- 
ing personality will eventually be overtaken by some 
sweet woman on the matrimonial path, and I know your 
affections will be equally as great for her as mine is for 
Zella. Then I will be generous to you as you have and 
will be to me. I will consent to your marriage, although 
it will divide your time. 

Joseph — God bless you, dear friend, for your appre- 
ciations of my marital future. By the way, where is 
Zella? I must see her. Is she at home? 

Emanuel — Yes, she is in my home, where I hope God 
will always see fit to keep her — at least while I live. I 
will call her. Zella, dear, come out ! I wish to see you. 

Zella ( Enters. ) — I have overheard all. Heaven bless 
you both, for I know the mutual esteem you hold for 
each other. I am glad you are so favorably impressed 
with the selection your friend has mjade for his life's 
companion and helpmeet. Emanuel has spoken so much 
of you during our courtship I feel I know you almost 
as well as I know Emanuel, consequently I will count 
on you as being our nearest and most revered friend. 

Joseph — Mrs. Faber, I have only known you by casual 
meetings of the past, but I am sure we can be a living 
help to each other in passing the rocky roads of life in 



56 POEMS AND PLAYS 

our future. God bless you both and always keep you as 
one. 

Zella — My prayers will always be for you and Eman- 
uel. I thank God for creating two such worthies. 

Emanuel — Joseph, remember that you are to visit at 
my home as you did prior to my marriage. Do not let 
a single day pass without at least a formal call. Will 
you? Whether I am at home or not, you are always 
welcome. Zella will always gladly and hospitably re- 
ceive and entertain you. 

Joseph — I thank you. Well do I know that, and well 
do I know she will be kind and complacent in my recep- 
tion, but I have a standard of moral and social ethics 
which from now on I will be compelled by the precepts 
and dictates of my own conscience to abide by. Although 
this rule of mine will greatly lessen my visits to your 
household, I will no less reverence you both in my hours 
of absence and solitude. 

(Emanuel and Zella answer simultaneously.) 

Emanuel — Why, what do you mean? 

Zella — Yes, please be more explicit. Why can't you 
come even more? Why can't you even make your calls 
more frequent than you did anterior to our marriage? Do 
you think by so doing you would be acting with the same 
fraternal loyalty that has been so characteristic of you 
heretofore? Do you think you would be doing justly by 
your old and reliable friend, Emanuel, by so doing? 
Please explain why you at this time assume that retir- 
ing attitude. 

Joseph — My explanation is only this : It is my opin- 
ion that if I truly value and honor my friend Emanuel I 
should equally esteem and honor his wife and household; 
and, to exemplify my mode of social and domestic civil- 
ity, I feel that by calling too often, since I know him to 
be happily married, would be infringing both on his 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 57 

hospitality and domestic privacy, which necessarily cor- 
relates into lessening the frequency of my visits. And, 
even when I do call, I feel I should be duly chaperoned to 
shield the honor and good name of his wife, for we are 
friends, and to remain as such it is well that we should 
guard against any growth of suspicion since that friend 
has become a benedict. A woman's honor is of fragile 
consistency, which needs tender and careful manipulat- 
ing, as a soap bubble, and of such delicacy, to retain its 
intrinsic beauty it behooves us to remain on the safe 
side. Even brothers have cause to exercise care in the 
relations of man and wife, to avoid danger of tarnishing 
their honor, and forever sullying the chaste reputation 
of the wife, and causing the impeachment of the hus- 
band's domestic stability and integrity. If brothers have 
done this, how much more are friends apt to do the same 
thing in their too often and sedulous calls, which may 
pollute the sanctity of their marital bliss and home. 

Zella ( Takes Joseph's hand at this moment. ) — Your 
dissertations are both instructive and noble. However, 
you must come often. I must leave you now and attend 
to my duties within, but before I leave you I must eulo- 
gize once more on your invaluable remarks so vividly ex- 
pressed. I can readily appreciate the paternal teachings 
you have had as well as your good breeding and high- 
mindedness. Your precepts on gallantry, ethics, and 
social conduct and demeanor is prima facie evidence of 
your great moral worth as a friend, savant and citizen 
of the world. You have inspired my confidence in you 
and enhanced the value of your friendship. We surely 
cannot dispense with any of your calls now, since you 
have spoken as you have. So do make your calls as often 
as is consistent with your business duties. Good bye. 

Emanuel (As Zella exits.) — I never will submit to 
your lessening your visits to my home. I am unable to 



58 POEMS AND PLAYS 

understand how your calls can ever be subversive to 
friendship or to good citizenship. The harmony that 
exists between us is tantamount to my future happiness, 
for we are looked upon as the inseparable, and if Provi- 
dence should decree that our friendship should be shat- 
tered, it would greatly confound my mundane felicity. 
Our title shall not be blighted by your circumspect rules. 
It is needless. I want to cause you to understand that 
you can be master of my home in my absence, and come 
to and fro as before, or you will disturb me greatly, and 
depreciate your value in my estimation as a boon com- 
panion. The displeasure you aroused in Zella was vis- 
ually perceptible after you had made your impromptu 
disquisition on social and civil ethics. The attitude you 
have assumed has grieved her. I will insist on your reg- 
ular visits now I have returned from my bridal tour. 

Joseph — Emanuel, this is truly a proof of your fra- 
ternal fealty. I will visit you under one consideration, 
and that is you are to appoint the hours and stipulate 
the days I am to call. I am sure that one on whom 
heaven has bestowed so noble and sweet a woman will 
understand that it behooves him to be careful in select- 
ing associates who will so often be in dangerous envir- 
onment. As you well know, the theatre, the church, and 
the market place, in many instances of the past, have 
served as a public rendezvous for social and civil in- 
trigue. The casual accompaniment of those you may 
have perfect confidence in often ends in moral debauch- 
ery. You must not repose too much confidence in the 
friend of your wife? Ofttimes the friend's house was a 
tenable trysting place for elicit love-making clandes- 
tinely arranged by other wives of other men. I consider 
it my duty to point out to you any vulnerable point or 
weakness in the armor of chastity and virtue. I also 
feel that any negligence on your part in regard to this 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 59 

should be supported by the moral integrity and manly 
force of your friend. 

Emanuel — Joseph, I agree with you, and you are just 
the one who could discharge this tender duty with acu- 
men and care. Well do I remember when you used to 
even neglect your duties in business and come to my 
home each day only to keep my company, so that I would 
not waste my time with those whose reputations were 
questioned, and whose standing was much inferior to 
my own. Well do I remember your shielding me from 
the pernicious influence and the slanderous tongues of 
the public. 

Joseph — Knowing as I did that we were called "the 
inseparables," and the old proverb that "birds of a 
feather flock together," and knowing that hazarding 
your good name would involve mine as well. 

Emanuel — I thank God for giving me so worthy a 
friend and for giving me so beautiful a woman as Zella ; 
you and she are the jewels of my heart, which shall ever 
shine forth with benignant radiance. Still, after all of 
our words and after all of my good fortune, I must con- 
fess to you that I am perhaps the most miserable man in 
all the world. I have traveled the world over; I am a 
Latin and Greek scholar; I am an art and eruditional 
dillitante; my father left me a legacy of much earthly 
substance, which I still hold in fee simple ; last, but not 
least, heaven has given me yourself and Zella as my 
dearest friends. Yet, I have said before, I am miserable 
— the most miserable man in the world. 

Joseph — Why, Emanuel, how you do shock me by 
your deliberate confession ! How can you be in this state 
of dejection under such luminous environments. I do 
not understand you. Explain yourself. 

Emanuel — I endeavor to hide my true feelings, but 
with little success, for fear that the deepest secrets of 



60 P E M S AN D P L AY S 

the darkest closet shall eventually be announced from 
the housetops, it places me in constant misery. The 
only one who can relieve me of my prevailing anxiety is 
yourself ; and by so doing perhaps avoid my impending 
undoing. 

Joseph — What can it be that troubles you? What is 
it you desire me to do? 

Emanuel — It is merely knowledge that I desire, which 
is beyond my individual reach, but within yours. And 
if I can obtain the knowledge I am so desirous of, it will 
give me as much pleasure in the same degree that my 
prevailing thoughts are giving me misery. 

Joseph — I cannot conceive your meaning. I cannot 
grasp or see the slightest adumbration of rational logic 
in what you say. Do not hold me in suspense, when I 
assure you of not having the remotest conception of 
your meaning. You do me a great injustice by not giv- 
ing me the true status of your mental agony. Do not 
take any circuitous routes, but tell me, dear friend, your 
trouble. I know I would tell you if I were in the same 
state of mind that you are. 

Emanuel — The fact is, my trouble all lies in my want 
of knowledge as to Zella's virtue and chastity, and if 
she is really true to me. You have been voicing the very 
meter of my thoughts, and the very hinges on which 
my happiness hung and swung. And how can I prove 
as to the verity of her virtue unless I resort to the most 
ascetic test, as acid on alcoline and fire on gold. I am 
sure a woman, no matter who she may be, is virtuous to 
the degree she has been tempted and no further, and she 
who is invulnerable or impervious to the overtures and 
promises, the gifts of sparkling baubles and declarations 
of love, is the one who either has not met the right man 
or has never been tempted. Then why should one offer 
any encomium or eulogize over his wife's virtue which 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 61 

has never been tempted or tested ! What is commendable 
of her virtue any more than an army of soldiers should 
be heralded as heroes until they had fought at least one 
engagement and come out with valor and victory ! Zella 
has no opportunity of doing wrong, and even then she 
is deathly afraid I would kill her if I should find her 
guilty of any impropriety or reprehensible act. There- 
fore, I do not insure her as being unapproachable until 
she emerges from at least one contest with colors of the 
enemy and with victory. I think my opinion is logical, 
and to test it to its logical sequence, I am going to sub- 
mit my Zella to the most trying importunities by a pre- 
possessing gentleman of birth and noble standing, and 
with unlimited financial resources and then if Zella 
comes out of this victorious, I will know that she is the 
one, the ruby, the purest woman in all the world. I will 
worship her forever after, and will feel that I have dis- 
covered the art of sounding the merit of woman's true 
chastity and worth. I shall bear the pain with indomit- 
able fortitude that this will cause me, and you, dear 
Joseph, are the one I have selected for this purpose. No 
matter how you try to persuade me to alter my plans, it 
will be of no avail, for I am desperate. I will give you 
time, opportunity and money to make this investigation 
of the true moral worth of Zella. The reason why I have 
chosen you for this is that I well know that if you dis- 
cover during your conquest that you have reached a 
point of capitulation, you will not carry it to extreme. 
But instead, marshal your force for retreat and make 
known the victory of the day to headquarters. I will 
cherish the services you render me and will honor in 
silence your victory, and will smother it all under the 
blanket of friendly integrity. 

Joseph — If I really had thought you in earnest I 
would not have let you proceed as far as you have. I 



62 P E M 8 AND PLAYS 

feel that you do not know me, and I am beginning to 
feel that I do not know you, or at least I do not know 
you as of other days. You are trespassing on dangerous 
grounds; you are imperiling the love of Zella, which is 
divine, to satiate your morbid curiosity, which is mun- 
dane and base. Why should you imperil your honor, 
your wife's honor and my own, for without honor one 
is without life? Still, knowing the uselessness of try- 
ing to convince you of your folly, and knowing that your 
happiness rests upon that one thing, I will, with great 
reluctance, endeavor to please you. 

There is not the slightest semblance of reason in the 
whole procedure, but knowing that nothing short of 
prima facie evidence, which must be forthcoming, will 
please and relieve your present state of mind, I will con- 
sent to co-operate with you in this ignominious under- 
taking. I will press my suit, which is a dishonorable 
one. I will use overtures to decoy, and flattery to en- 
trance this high-minded and pure woman, and perhaps 
in the end ruin the happiness of one who now is in the 
bliss of her ignorance, Zella, the unsophisticated wife of 
Emanuel Faber. After you have gone to all of this 
trouble, and you should determine, through and by my 
tergiversating and cunning stratagem, that Zella was 
the one woman in the world more valuable than rubies, 
what title then can knight her with? What can 
you bestow upon her any more than now that will en- 
hance your appreciation of her moral integrity? 

Emanuel, you are trying truth. I am the prosecu- 
tor and jury — you are the judge ; you judge from my ver- 
dict. You are to judge truth, which is infinite. Your 
mind is as all mortal minds are, they are limited. How 
then can you judge in that case any more than the mor- 
tal mind can conceive space? Space is infinite, like 
truth, and as such can only be conceived by a mind that 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 63 

is infinite. Men imperil their lives on land and sea. 
Saints have made martyrs of themselves, the former for 
the temporalities of man, the latter for the glory of God. 
The soldier goes to battle to shed blood, for by the shed- 
ding of blood he attains peace. The saint does not suf- 
fer austerities at the stake to gratify ambition or to be 
enrolled in the calendar of beautified and canonized 
saints for the name of it, but to immolate his flesh for 
the regeneration of faithless and fallen humanity. That 
is real glory, but what we are about to do — I fail to see 
where any good can evolve from it. How can we be glor- 
ified by being inglorious, I wish to know? 

Suppose you were successful in ascertaining that Zella 
was not as strong in character as you formerly supposed 
her to be, you would be compelled to suffer out your men- 
tal anguish by yourself. You could not promulgate your 
discovery to the world. You could only suffer in soli- 
tude and retain in your viscera, and taste on your lips, 
the cup of gall that you would have drank with apparent 
ease, though now it will not rest within your lugubrious 
soul without nausea. What you are about to do is what 
I once knew a foolish man to do who was the possessor 
of a beautiful diamond he had been apprised of. Its 
singular beauty of symmetry and lustre by the best 
of lapidaries. Not being content with their judg- 
ment, he laid the gem on an anvil and struck it a blow 
with a hammer to ascertain that it truly had the con- 
sistency they said it had. The stone, of course, was 
completely pulverized, and even though it had not in- 
jured the stone, how could it in any way add to or en- 
hance its value? To satisfy his morbid curiosity you 
can see what an irreparable loss he sustained. 

Dear friend, why not consider this similitude, and 
look upon Zella as a beautiful diamond, and one that 
needs no further test than a simple glance at her heav- 



64 POEMS AND PLAYS 

enly features. Do not submit her to such a ruinous test, 
for what gem or jewel can you compare to her? Perfec- 
tion does not lie in this sphere, and all women, all flesh, 
is weak, that we know, and instead of placing obstacles 
in their path, why not remove those that are already 
there? A beautiful woman is like unto a blooming rose. 
You may look upon its glamoring beauty — you may in- 
hale its redolent breath — but you must not touch its 
tender petals or you will mar its beauty. You can shat- 
ter a beautiful dish with a single blow, but you cannot 
make it whole again by another one. 

Excuse the prolixity of my exortations, but, as you 
know, God infused sleep into Adam and took a rib from 
his side and formed Eve, the mother of all the living, 
and when Adam awoke and beheld her he said, "This 
is flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone," and God said, 
"For this shall a man leave his father and his mother, 
and they shall be two in one flesh," and there was insti- 
tuted the divine sacrament of marriage with ties that 
death alone can sever. This makes two persons one and 
the same flesh ; therefore, they should have but one will. 
By exercising your will unknown to her you may pollute 
her soul and you will sully your own ; though, after all, 
dear friend, rather than have you trust others with this 
tender undertaking, I will do my best. I will be at your 
home tomorrow. Good bye. 

(CURTAIN.) 



ACT II. 

(This scene is Emanuel's dining room. They are 
seated at the table partaking of a light repast. Din- 
ner is over, and Zella starts at once to remove the 
soiled linens and dirty dishes. ) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 65 

Emanuel (As he kisses Zella.) — I will leave you, dear, 
with Joseph for a while, for I am compelled to go down 
the street on business. Joseph, you make yourself per- 
fectly at home while I am away. 

Joseph — Thank you. 

Zella — Good bye, dear husband. 

Joseph (At once falls back into his chair and pretends 
to be drowsy.) — I feel so sleepy today, it must be the 
weather that causes my somnambulistic lethargy, for 
which I beg your most humble pardon. 

Zella — Your pardon is accepted, though will you not 
lie down in the other room where you can be more com- 
fortable? 

Joseph — No, thank you, this is very comfortable where 
I am, and while I am resting, you may go on with your 
household duties as though I were not here. 

Zella (Makes her exit.) — You may rest while I go 
out to help the servant in the kitchen. 

Joseph ( Soliloquizing to himself. ) — Her eyes are like 
the roe; her deportment, so serpentine; her manners 
grace ; her form divine. Well, well ! I am not sure that 
I can carry this through without trespassing. I am 
really afraid I cannot trust myself, my being alone with 
her seems to offer a psychological suggestion that I can 
never combat the temptations of her queenly grace. 

Emanuel ( Enters. ) — Well, where is Zella? And why 
are you so drowsy? And tell me what success you have 
had? 

Joseph (As he pretends to wake out of a half sleep) — 
Do not ask me to give you any answer at this time. You 
must not hurry me. I am compelled to be slow in this 
undertaking. I can only answer you by saying she is 
beautiful, and her graceful bearing and queenly pres- 
ence are almost disastrously impelling, as you know pub- 
lic sentiment extols her physical charms. My manners 



6G P O E M 8 A N D PLAYS 

have been fortuitously inadvertent and nonchalant while 
in her presence. By feigning sleep, I thought I would 
help gain her confidence much quicker than by pressing 
my suit at once. 

Emanuel — You are pursuing the right course, Joseph. 
I will leave you again. Do not say that I returned so 
quickly, or Zella might be suspicious. I will return 
shortly and look through the shutters, and when Zella 
is away from you I will enter to learn the news. 
(Exit.) 

Joseph (Sits in his chair meditating, then speaks to 
the audience. ) — I shall not call Zella. I shall only do as 
before, and make no attempts to fathom the depths of 
this sweet woman. I will represent to Joseph I have 
done much, but have failed utterly. ) 

Emanuel (Keturns.) — Well, what have you done? 
What success have you had? 

Joseph — I have had none. I have approached her 
and she violently repulsed me and reproached me for 
my familiarity, as well as threatened me by saying she 
would inform you if I did not abandon such procedure. 

Emanuel — So far, so good. She is showing her noble 
character and this is surely pleasing. We will now see 
how much pressure she really can stand. Here is f 5,000 
in gold certificates, and you offer her this, for women — 
particularly beautiful women — care to purchase jewels 
and finery to embellish their charms, even though they 
are women of virtue and chastity. 

Joseph — As long as I have undertaken this ignoble 
work, I will carry it through. Still, I am very sure it 
will be useless to tempt her with anything of the kind, 
for I am sure I understood her now. 

Emanuel (Making his exit.) — I will return when I. 
see the way clear. 

(Joseph sits as before, sleeping.) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 67 

(Zella enters and sits sewing or making lace. 

Not a single word is passed between them. This 

time Emanuel passes out one door and into another 

where he can see what is going on unobserved and 

unknown to either of them. He sits there and 

watches the movements of Joseph. Joseph only sits 

and says nothing to Zella; he occasionally moves 

his chair to change his posture. After the lapse of a 

few minutes Zella makes her exit. ) 

Emanuel (Enters — to the audience.) — I believe he is 

deceiving me. What can this mean. ( To Joseph. ) What 

have you been able to determine by this time, friend 

Joseph ? 

Joseph — Nothing whatever. I have been so repulsed 
by her that I am completely disheartened and discour- 
aged in doing more in this direction. 

Emanuel — Ah, Joseph, I have been watching you 
from yonder window, and you have only remained in 
quietude and made no attempt to approach and try to 
determine that which you promised me you would. This 
causes me to believe that you have made no attempt at 
any time to press your suit on Zella. 

Joseph (Sheepishly confesses.) — Yes, Emanuel, true 
it is. I have not had the courage to attempt this base 
act. I could not muster up courage enough to attempt 
the execution of my faithful promise to you. 

Emanuel — I will lose confidence in you as a friend 
if you continue such deception. Do you think you are 
acting like a friend should act? You should be ashamed 
of yourself in treating me, your friend Emanuel, as you 
have. 

Joseph — I give you my word, I will not deceive you 
again. I will devote myself assiduously to this thing to 
please you, and I assure you it will be unnecessary for 
you to wait in ambush to find out whether I am making 



68 POEMS AND PLAYS 

the effort or not, but I will give you my word of honor. 
Although, Emanuel, you are instigating a plot that will 
eventuate in our downfall, you now possess what should 
make you happy and contented. Your wife is virtuous, 
her thoughts do not wander on anything but that which 
concerns you and your happiness. You are the idol of 
her soul and the object of her affections. Why do you 
run such chances in undermining her frailities, if she 
has any? 

Zella (Enters.) — O, dear Emanuel! (Embraces 
him.) You have returned, haven't you, dear boy? 

Emanuel — Yes, dearest, although I have received 
word that I must go again and attend to some matters 
more urgent than before. But, dearest Zella, I shall 
not leave you alone. Joseph will remain here with you 
until I return, and you must entertain him while I am 
away, for, as you well know, he is my nearest and dear- 
est friend. I want him to assume the responsibilities of 
the home ; in my absence he can fill my vacancy. 

Zella — How unconventional! How out of place it 
does seem to me to hear you invest your right of house- 
hold duties in another ! I am really vexed at you. I feel 
that I am perfectly capable of assuming all responsibili- 
ties and duties of this home in your absence without any 
of your friends assuming or being appointed to fill that 
position. 

Emanuel — I am sorry, Zella, you are hurt at what I 
have said, but I am sure there is nothing wrong in what 
I have said about Joseph taking my place, and watching 
over things while I am away. However, I insist that 
you concede to this, for the husband's will and word 
should be law in his home. 

Zella — I suppose I must obey, but it is unpleasing to 
me to be a subaltern in my own home, I can assure you. 

Emanuel — Good bye. 



BYE. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 69 

(As he kisses her he says good bye to Joseph as 
well.) 

Joseph ( To the audience. ) — I am simply overcome by 
her radiance. How weak I am ! I dare not contemplate 
her beauty nor physical charms. How unloyal a friend 
I may turn out to be ! I feel I must go many miles from 
here before it is too late. Still, it will not be altogether 
my fault. Emanuel will be largely to blame. 

(Joseph turns to Zella, takes her hand and ten- 
derly kisses it. ) 

Joseph — Zella, Zella, if you will allow me to address 
you by your sweet name. Your personality, so endowed 
with grace and humility, has completely overcome me. 
The contour of your face, the Greek profile which you 
possess, the Cupid's bow lips, and double row of pearls 
in ambush, back of those ruby lips; those enchanting 
tresses and refulgent cheeks, of the mixture of lily and 
the rose; your symmetry and grace; your retiring 
modesty, has completely overwhelmed me. I cannot 
refrain or restrain from approaching you and abruptly 
declaring my love and admiration for you. Zella ! Zella ! 
Woman ! Woman ! I love you ! I love you ! 

Zella (Jerks her hand from his grasp as she vehem- 
ently reprimands him.) — How obtrusive of you! I am 
surprised at your improper manifestations. How ridic- 
ulous and puerile. 

Emanuel (Enters.) — Why are you both so nervous 
and frustrated? And you particularly, Zella? You are 
so flushed, and apparently excited. What has taken 
place that could have disturbed your normal composure? 

Zella — There is plenty to cause me to be as I am now. 
If you are going to continue away at such frequent in- 
tervals as you have been doing of late I will be compelled 
to resort to extreme methods to protect my honor. The 
wife should have the protection of her husband at all 



70 PO E M 8 AN D P L AY 8 

times. The same as a ship should have its captain or a 
castle its castellane. If you do not stay at home with 
me, I shall be compelled to go to my father's house for 
protection, for this man whom you have left here for 
that purpose is only seeking pleasure that he can only 
obtain elsewhere. I hope I need not say more in this 
regard. 

Emanuel — Why become so exasperated? Why make 
such ado? Why so impetuous? You are not hurt in any 
way. If Joseph has said or done anything to you that 
has been unpleasant to you, you only misjudge his mean- 
ing, for I am sure he would not maliciously injure me or 
mine in the slightest degree. You cannot go to your 
father's house. You are to stav with vour husband, and 
I will liquidate all the harm that can ever befall you at 
my friend Joseph's hands. I must leave you again. I 
was compelled to return home for this document. ( Takes 
document from his desk.) Good bye. (Exit.) 

Zella ( Addressing the audience. ) — I am astonished at 
my husband's stoic and apathetic attitude. What can 
I do? (Cries audibly.) I am afraid to remain here in 
my own home and afraid to go to my parents. In re- 
maining, I imperil my honor, and in going, I jeopardize 
his and mv own as well, and besides, violate my hus- 
band's commands and behests. I know what I will do. 
I'll remain at all hazards. I have done nothing repre- 
hensible. He will be the profligate, not I, if worse comes 
to worst. I regret exceedingly that I said one word to 
Emanuel. I will stay under my husband's roof, for "my 
home is my castle." I hope Joseph does not think I am 
weak-minded for giving way to my frenzied emotions as 
I did. 

(While Emanuel was speaking to Zella, Joseph 
walks leisurely into an adjoining room; at this mo- 
ment he re-enters.) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 71 

Joseph — Zella, Zella, why were you so reproachful? 
Why do you cast my overtures aside? Are not my tears 
a physical manifestation of my affection? As Byron 
said: "Friendship and love our sympathies move, the 
truth in a glance may appear; the lips may be guiled 
with a dimple or smile, but the test of affection is a 
tear." I kneel before you as I would before the blessed 
sacrament. I idolize you as a living goddess ! You are 
the personification of the Venus de Milo! You draw 
me to you as a Helen of Troy! God bless the hour of 
your nativity and the years of your adolescence! Your 
charming manners, the benignity of your volatile pres- 
ence, the mould of your person, the superlative dignity 
of your mind, which is heavenly bestowed ! You are the 
embodiment of all that is sweet, pure and beautiful. 
The flower of womanhood, you are the muse of my verse 
and the inspiration of my song! Give me one scintilla 
of your love and I will make your life a life of flowers! 
T will bedeck you with jewels and above all, I will love 
you ! I will love you with a love "that passeth all under- 
standing." I love you, Zella, I love you ! 

Zella (Drops her head in a mode of pensive medita- 
tion. He raises her hand and tenderly kisses it. ) — Such 
words as you have just uttered penetrate my very soul ! 
I must say that such love as that is beautiful ! How can 
I resist you! Only with divine help could I throw it 
aside. I am clay in the potter's hands. I cannot resist 
vou. I surrender. 

(Falls into Joseph's arms.) 

Joseph (As he caresses her.) — I determined to fly 
from you — out of your midst, but the more I tried to 
resist your charms the more that latent and potent af- 
finity would assert itself, the nearer I was drawn to you, 
though now how glad I am ! How glorious it is to love 
and be loved by the sweetest woman the light of heaven 
ever shone on ! 



72 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Zella — How I love to hear those words ! What music 
they are to me ! I could hear them over and over again. 
How can we keep this love pact from Emanuel, my hus- 
band? This will have to be our trysting place. We will 
have to have a confederate. I know ; I will divulge all to 
Mary, my maid. She will take compassion on me when 
I tell her of my plight. I will call her — Mary ! Mary ! 
(Enter Mary.) 

Zella — This is my maid, Mary, Joseph. 

Joseph — Am pleased to know you. 

Zella — Mary is one in whom we can place implicit 
confidence. 

Joseph — I will leave you two to yourselves for a 
while. I will step outside. 

(Joseph makes his exit.) 

Zella — I will explain. 

Mary — You will not have to explain. I was standing 
near and your conversation was audible. I know you 
are fond of each other by your love-making parlance. 
And out of a tie of loyalty to you, my dear mistress, I 
will not only keep this a profound secret, but will do all 
I can to help you. (Exit Joseph and Emanuel enter.) 

Emanuel — What news from the front? Have you 
charged the enemy, or fallen back and retrenched as you 
did before? Tell me. 

Joseph — The only tidings I am able to acquaint you 
with is simply to repeat what I have before told you, that 
Zella is the standard of pure and noble womanhood. My 
devout exhortations of love were uttered all in vain. 
They were chaff before the autumn zephyrs. She discred- 
ited my sincerity and laughed at my promises. She cast 
my tendered presents at my feet ; even my tears failed to 
break her decorum. Maternal equity is the tenor of her 
very soul. Ah, Emanuel, she is the essence of purity 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 73 

and humility ! Here is your $5,000 that you gave me to 
tempt her chastity. I could not use it; money and jew- 
els are as weak as gestures and words. Dear friend, it is 
useless to make any further attempt in this direction. 
You can rest in perfect ease and contentment that Zella 
is pure and unapproachable. 

Emanuel — How can I thank you for the service ren- 
dered me ! I assure you I am overly pleased with your 
verdict. Still, I am not content to have you relinquish 
your offices as yet. My wisdom is not surfeit, for faith 
is the substance of things hoped for — knowledge the sub- 
stance of things possessed. It is now getting to a point 
of amusement with me. Although you need not continue 
your conquests with the same flank movement, or with 
the same assiduity. I have another plan for you to em- 
ploy which will be very weighty as well as amusing. I 
wish you to write a short poem to her under the name 
of Elnore. I will afterwards tell her that you are greatly 
enamored of a lady by that name, and can only give vent 
to your ebullient love by singing her praises in poetic 
verse. 

Joseph — I will do the best I can to write a worthy son- 
net, my friend. 

(Joseph makes exit.) 

Zella ( Enters. ) — Dear Emanuel, you are home, aren't 
you? When did you come? 

Emanuel — Yes, dear, I have been here some time. 
Zella, why did you lose your composure as I entered a 
while ago? And why did you speak of my friend as you 
did? Saying he was looking for pleasure he could only 
obtain elsewhere? 

Zella — I was sure he was paying me more attention 
than was compatible to true friendship. But I can see 
now I was laboring under false illusions. 

Emanuel — I can assure you you were greatly in er- 



74 POEMS AND PLAYS 

ror, for he is not evil or libidinous. Therefore not of 
consummate skill in moral turpitude to even attempt 
any wrong. Still further, Joseph is in love with a beau- 
tiful lady of both rank and fortune. Her name, I think, 
if I am not in error, is Elnore. 

Zella ( Hears news, and at first presses her lips with 
perceptible vehemence, but realizing that she must hide 
her jealous feelings in the matter, she laughs supercili- 
ously.) — ^'ill you not hate to have your dear friend 
marry, Emanuel? 

Emanuel — Yes, he will De compelled to divide his 
agreeable company between us and his wife. I am go- 
ing into the garden for a few minutes. (Exits.) 

Joseph (Enters.) — Dear Zella, I have told Emanuel 
I cared for another woman by the name of Elnore, and 
that I write sonnets of her, but this I do to praise you in 
his presence through this cognomen. While Emanuel is 
by he will ask me to read them I am sure. 

Emanuel (Enters. They gather about a table and 
eat and drink wine and soda crackers. ) — I want you to 
read some one of your sonnets you have written on your 
fiancee, Elnore. Zella does not know her, so it won't 
make any difference. 

Joseph — Even though she did know her, I would keep 
back nothing. If I praise her beauty and still call her 
cruel, I am casting no imputations upon her good name. 
Yes, I have a short sonnet upon the ingratitude of this 
Elnore. I will read it to you. 

Sonnet. 

At the death of day when night is o'er the land, 
And the eyes of slumbering beauty are at hand, 
I wish to tell the story of my cares 
To Elnore, who treads the celestial stairs. 
The morning comes but only fleets away 



B 7 H. L. C H AP I N , M. D. 75 

To portals of the West of golden ray. 

My anguish leaves me yet, is with me still — 

The world is chaos to my passioned will. 

Until the morrow's sun bring joy — tho' night 

Again renews my yesterday of alternate dark and light 

I speak, though not with words, but pray to thee 

Though neither God nor Elnore answer me. 

(Zella and Emanuel clap their hands and laugh.) 

Emanuel — How praiseworthy is the diction and 
meter of your poetical genius ! But how cruel of her not 
to reciprocate fondness so obvious. 

Zella — Is it true that love-sick poets always speak 
the truth? 

Joseph — As poets, they do not always speak the truth, 
but in actual love-making their verity is beyond cavil. 

Emanuel (To the audence.) — Zella is the truest 
woman in the world. How innocent of her ! 

(Joseph and Emanuel make their exit. Mary 
enters. ) 

Zella — Mary, dear maid, I wish now I would have 
treated Joseph more tenderly, and never been from the 
first so reproachful and harsh, for his attentions to me 
are so irresistible. 

Mary — Do not worry, my dear mistress. You know if 
you tender anything so fragile as love to one upon their 
first application for it, it loses its value and rarity, for 
it is said that they who give quickly give twice. 

Zella — True ! And what costs little is of little value. 

Mary — That does not apply in your case. Love both 
flies and walks. Some it nourishes, others it starves. 
Some it wounds, others it heals. It often wins its battles 
by retreating. Nothing, no matter how cogent the force, 
it can not resist. You should avail yourself of the op- 
portunity now Emanuel is away. Make sure of his love 
while you can. I, myself, at this very time, am experi- 



76 POEMS AND PLAYS 

encing the same thing that you are. I am young and 
my heart is warm, therefore I can help you. Could you 
not see his tears? They are worthy of a woman's love. 
He showed the profundity of his casuistry by his sighs 
and promises. Be content. He loves you and you him. 
He is worthy of you and you of him. He has four s's 
that lovers should have, sabio solo solicito secreto. He 
is the personification of the alphabet. He is amiable, 
brave, courageous, distinguished, elevating, fascinating, 
grand, heavenly, illustrious, jovial, lovable, mannerly, 
noble, opulent, politic, quick-witted, sedate, thoughtful, 
vivacious, genial, young and zealous for you. 

Zella — I can readily see by your sentimental words 
vou are in love. I caution you not to sav a word to 
Emanuel, my husband, of our secret. 

Mary — Oh, no, dear mistress; but our understanding 
each other as we do, I feel at liberty to introduce my 
friend James to you. 

Zella (As she speaks to the audience.) — I have made 
a great mistake. The words of my dear father are be- 
fore me so vividly: "Never become familiar with your 
servants ; never lower yourself to their plane, and never 
let her know your innermost secrets." What a fool I 
have been ! Now I am a slave to her. 

Mary (Calls her lover.) — James, come in and meet 
my mistress. 

Zella (As they are introduced.) — I have heard Mary 
speak so favorably of you. 

James — Yes, Mary and I are the best of friends. 

(At this they hear a noise. Thinking it to be the 
master of the house, Zella furtively and quickly 
hides James and Mary in an adjoining room.) 

Joseph (Enters.) — In entering I heard a hurried 
scuffling, and in a moment as I stood listening I observed 
a man of tall stature with long coat, with collar pulled 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 77 

up over his ears, issuing from the side window. What 
can it mean, Zella? Look at me? What can it mean? 
You have been entertaining another man besides myself 
or your husband. You know you have! Answer me! 
(No answer comes from her.) Ah, silence is the ac- 
knowledgment of guilt. You yielded to me ; why should 
you not yield to others? Oh, how trying! I have heard 
it said that there is no real happiness elicited from the 
heart of a married woman. I suppose he has won with 
even greater ease than I did. 

Zella — You will live to regret. You will see the hour 
that you will be sorry for what you have now said. This 
is the guerdon I receive. This is woman's reward ! This 
is what I get for giving up all for you. My husband's 
happiness and my home! My parents love, and above 
all my honor and my virtue. O God, why did I do it! 
Why did I do it ! 

(Zella makes her exit. Emanuel enters.) 

Joseph — Emanuel, I have something of great import- 
ance to tell. I have fought to keep it from you, but I 
cannot, for it is my duty as a friend to tell you the whole 
truth and nothing but the truth. Pardon me for being 
so slow in revealing the true status of things, but I must 
say I have conquered. Zella has surrendered. I have 
invaded her last redoubt. I have won her love — she has 
reciprocated my affections and declared her love for me. 

Emanuel — O, my God ! What ! (As he starts at him to 
do him bodily harm.) What do you mean? I feel like 
killing you. How unfaithful a friend. You don't mean 
to say Zella, Zella, my Zella has fallen, that you have 
enjoyed that wilich I was trying to make sure that no one 
could approach ! What a fool I have been ! I have pan- 
dered to your sensual pleasures. I have a right to kill 
you. No, no, it is my fault. It is my fault! Go on, 
tell me all, though first, how do I know whether you are 



78 POEMS AND PLAYS 

telling me the truth. You tried to deceive me once be- 
fore. I must have proof. 

Joseph — I can prove all I have said. If you are in 
doubt, secrete yourself in yonder clothespress and learn 
for • yourself the infidelity of your wife, although you 
must promise me that you will be prudent and discreet 
and say nothing or even make the slightest noise. Say 
nothing to her, dissemble your feelings, for you cannot 
offer any punishment, for you are the one amenable to 
her downfall, so all you can do is to watch, wait and 
listen. 

Emanuel (In lackadaisical attitude.) — You have been 
the myrmidon of my base orders. O, how piquant, how 
heart-rending it is! So unprepared to receive such ob- 
fuscating and astounding news. I have raised her upon 
a pedestal so high, of late, that now this fall has shat- 
tered her in my estimation beyond any semblance of her 
former self. What a fool I have been ! How improvi- 
dent of me ! Why was I not satisfied with what Heaven 
had given me? Pardon me, Joseph, it is my fault. I 
am to blame. Don't be vexed with me for reproaching 
you. Don't leave me now, for now I will rely on you 
altogether, and do as you say in the future. I am culpa- 
ble for this sorrow of mine and no one else. You shall 
be the benefactor of my nepotism of the future. 

Joseph ( To the audience. ) — Why did I give vent to my 
jealous frenzy and tell him what I have about Zella's 
chastity? How weak of me! 

(Emanuel makes his exit. Enter Zella.) 

Zella — Joseph, I am glad I have this opportunity of 
telling you what I neglected to tell you before, but I 
was so overcome when you told me of the gentleman is- 
suing from the window that my flustrated mind could 
not decide on anything but to reproach you for your un- 
kind words to me. Now I will tell you all. I am pain- 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 79 

fully afflicted by allowing my maid servant, Mary, to re- 
ceive her gentleman friend at nocturnal hours. He is 
gallant, and I fear very much sophisticated. I just dis- 
covered that he calls on Mary and remains until late 
hours in her apartments, and I have been unable to re- 
buke her or to repudiate her as to his obtrustive visits, 
because Mary, as you well know, is aware of our illicit 
relations, and ruin would be correlative to my prohibi- 
tive attitude. When we were through talking after you 
had met Mary, she told me her lover was in the house. 
She introduced me to him, and in a moment I heard foot- 
steps, which I thought were my husband's, and I told 
them to hurry to yonder room, and he instead of waiting 
there got out of the window, and he was the man you 
saw. 

Joseph — Zella, dearest Zella, how I have wronged 
you! I ask your most humble pardon. I am so glad 
you have told me just as it was. Why did you not tell 
me? I was so overcome with jealousy. The vision of 
a man fleeing from your home at that hour aroused my 
frenzy. That is what caused my expostulations to 
abound with invective and vehemence. I was sure you 
were not what I supposed you to be, and to satiate my 
grievance, for which I am now sorry, I made know the 
whole thing to Emanuel. I told him all. 

Zella— All ! All ! What all? What did you tell him? 

Joseph — I told him of our intimacy. I also told him 
I could prove my imputations of your disloyalty and 
marital impropriety before his very eyes if he would 
wait in ambush in the clothespress this evening, which 
he agreed to do. I ask, dear Zella, your pardon, my love, 
for you have assumed such preponderance that I am 
nearly frenzied when I even think of your doing wrong 
by me. 

Zella — My God! How are we to extricate ourselves 



80 POEMS AND PLAYS 

gracefully and with security from this terrible impend- 
ing calamity? How can we? How can we, I ask you? 
What will we do? How impetuous, how quick you were 
to injure me on such a slight provocation! Oh, what 
will I do? What will I do? The only way out of this 
difficulty now is to go on as you proposed to Emanuel. 
Have him hid in the clothespress and we will still enjoy 
each other's presence and at the same time cast all sus- 
picion of anything being radically wrong between us. 
You must answer my questions and that's all. If Mary 
calls you aside you must come, for I will instruct her 
when I want you. 

( Zella makes her exit. ) 
(Joseph has made his exit.) 
( Emanuel enters and hides in closet. ) 
(Zella enters with Mary and remains on a part 
of the stage where Emanuel can hear but cannot 
see them.) 
Zella — Dear maid, I want you to take this dagger of 
Emanuel's and stab me through my wicked heart. 

Mary — No, no! Why should you suffer for the in- 
iquities of another? 

Zella — You are right. I care to know first what those 
bold, brazen eyes of Joseph's have seen in me to cause 
him to attempt my downfall and to alienate my love and 
usurp my husband's domestic supremacy. O, Mary, go 
call Joseph ! He is near by. I am sure waiting to ex- 
ecute his malicious plans. I am determined to preclude 
his base operations, although cruel they may be. 

Mary ( Calls Joseph. ) — Joseph, Joseph ! ( Turns and 
resumes her conversation with Zella. ) O, mistress, mis- 
tress! What do you intend doing with this formidable 
dagger? Mistress, are you going to take your life, or 
do you intend taking Joseph's? Whichever it is, let me 
impress upon you it will not in any way better things. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 81 

You had better restrain your paradoxical intentions and 
dissemble your anger, and not let him continue his visits 
to your home while you are alone. 

Mary (Turns to the audience and remarks as though 
she were addressing them without anyone else hearing 
or knowing the purport of her parlance. ) — I am playing 
my part to help deceive that caitiff, for I have reason to 
know her husband has conspired with him to fathom 
my mistress, to test her virtue. ( Turning to Zella again. ) 
Zella, you know Joseph is physically strong, and is so 
base and low he might fall upon you at any time and 
proceed to execute his plans, whatever the plans may 
consist of. You had better guard against his pernicious 
invasion as you now have, but do not use the dagger only 
in defense and not offense. I am only your maid, but I 
assume the privilege of condemning the judgment of 
your husband in allowing that varlet into your house in 
his absence. 

Zella — I can hardly wait. Let me at him! Let me 
at him ! 

Mary — My God ! Woman ! Woman ! What will you 
do with his remains if you kill him? Where will you 
dispose of the body? 

Zella — Ah, such pusilanimity ! How wrong! 

Mary — Dear mistress, answer me. Answer me ! What 
will you do if you take his life? What will you do with 
his remains? 

Zella — That is easy. Leave that to me. W T e will 
leave him for Emanuel. He may bury him, for it is all 
his fault. His body will be the opprobrium of his fool- 
ish acts. God will censure him, not me. Summon him ; 
call him ; call that false friend Joseph again ! 

Emanuel (Can be seen in apparent delightment, yet 
overtaken with fear, and agitated as to the ultimate out- 
come. He ventures out of his retreat, then back and 



82 POEMS AND PLAYS 

out again. Then he addresses the audience. ) — To avert 
murder or suicide I must interpose myself between them. 
No, no ! I will wait until the last moment to witness the 
issue of her determination. 

( Zella falls down upon a nearby lounge, pretend- 
ing to faint.) 

Mary — My God! Am I to witness the death of this 
persecuted, virtuous woman— the flower of true woman- 
hood, the personification of chastity itself? 

Zella (As she revives.) — Why have you not sum- 
moned that wretch? (Joseph all of this time is just 
outside where he can see and hear all. ) That vile friend 
of Emanuel's whose heart is blacker than the night? 
Quick! Hasten! Begone! Summon him before I give 
way to utterances unbecoming a woman. 

Mary — I will call him, dear mistress, but you must 
first give me that dagger you have concealed in your 
corsage, lest you break the heart of your friend and ser- 
vant, Mary, and your husband's as well. 

Zella — No, no, no, no ! Indeed, I will not give it up ! 
Go, go ! I appeal to you, Go ! I will promise you I will 
not kill. I have changed my mind. I will not be so 
rash as to kill myself, as you no doubt think I am about 
to do. I will not do as Lucretia did of old. When she 
had done no wrong, without killing the one first who 
had wronged her and caused her misfortune. If it must 
be, I will die, but not until I have avenged the wrong 
that has been done me and mine, without any fault of 
mine. 

(Mary calls Joseph again.) 

Zella (To herself.) — Is it not better that I repulse 
Joseph, as I have done before many times, than to allow 
him to think I am unchaste and vile? He shall forfeit 
his life for his attempted depravity and moral turpitude. 
1.(4 the world know that Zella, the wife of Emanuel, 



BYH. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 83 

preserved her honor and avenged the wrong done her 
and her husband. Still, might I better disclose my in- 
tentions to Emanuel, and yet after all, it will be of no 
avail, for have I not spoken before to him of his dis- 
loyalty to him and his immoral overtures to me, and 
what did he do but ignore what I told him. He thought 
his friendship could not be perverted by any such agen- 
cies as a mere woman. I myself had implicit faith in 
him at first, but after he had tendered me presents and 
shed tears and made such lavish promises to me — Avant 
■ — go, call him! The pugnacity in me arises! Let that 
prurient one come before me and die! Then, let come 
what may, for I came to my husband a pure woman, and 
I will, with God's help, leave him a pure wife, bathed in 
the foul blood of that sensual beast who would pander 
to the wants of the lowest Pariah. 

(At this, Zella start to walk; she dishevels her 
hair and throws her head frantically from side to 
side, as though she had become temporarily de- 
mented. ) 

Emanuel (Peeping out with stealth, speaks to th# 
audience. ) — I am now convinced of her moral integrity, 
since I have heard her tirades. 

( Enter Mary, leading Joseph. ) 

Zella (As she takes her dagger and draws a long line 
across the floor.) — If you step across this line, I will 
pierce my heart with this dagger, and before you utter 
one word, I want you to listen what I have to say. After 
I have spoken, you may reply as you see fit. First of all, 
I want you to tell me in what light do you regard my 
husband? In real truth, what is your estimation of 
him? And secondly, what do you know of me? 

Joseph (To the audience.) — How cunning of her. I 
understand her cupidity. I did not think I was coming 
here to experience such unpleasantness or for a purpose 



84 POEMS AND PLAYS 

so foreign to the pleasures I anticipated by being near 
her. (As he turns to Zella.) If you are doing this to 
postpone the promised guerdon, you may have continued 
it still longer, for the thoughts of coming pleasure are as 
sweet as the events themselves. In answering your ques- 
tions I know much of your husband. We have known 
each other since childhood. Through his confidence in 
me he has perhaps inflicted errors upon others. I will 
not say whom. He has done it all because he loved be- 
yond reason, and to perpetuate the love of one who is the 
summum bonum of two mortal egos, which at first was 
only to favor a friend, I made overtures of love, but the 
tempter was metamorphosed into the tempted. I held 
you in the same focus that Emanuel did, and by doing 
so have sundered the rules of true friendship. Violated 
by me, compelled to employ and foster that potent yet 
malignant factor to fight that siren enemy — love. 

Zella — I think I understand your meaning. You are 
censuring yourself for making too much freedom with 
that which has been trusted to you. It possibly was 
some unintentional immodesty on my part that drew you 
on and caused you to violate your honor as a friend by 
your peculations of trust. I have not done anything un- 
less by inadvertence. I know I have not been reticent 
and conservative at all times as I should, but tell me, 
was I ever indiscreet with you in any way, or did I ever 
encourage your base overtures in any way? Did I not 
with fortitude shield my virtue? Did I not rebuke all 
and every overture made to me by you? Of course the 
continual pounding with love's battering ram will 
loosen the portals to some extent of a woman's heart, 
unless they are made of stone. Perhaps some unthink- 
ing remark or sally on my part has bolstered your hopes. 
Therefore, I am somewhat to blame, and will impose my 
sentence and inflict my own punishment, which you will 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 85 

have to witness, that you may suffer with me to partly 
expiate the wrong done to me and to my husband. You 
have caused my desperation and you shall die first. 

(Zella rushes at Joseph with dagger in hand. She 
is in such earnest and inflexible determination, 
Joseph is not sure of himself, but she intends to do 
him bodily harm. He wards off her blow with 
graceful dexterity. Zella gives such color of truth 
to her feigned demonstrations of anger that on fail- 
ing to harm him, she turns the dagger on herself. 
Joseph strikes the dagger from her grasp to stop 
her deadly efforts upon herself. Yet she partly 
succeeds in thrusting the dagger into her left shoul- 
der and falls to the floor in a faint. Mary and 
Joseph are greatly excited. They rush to her.) 
Joseph (To the audience.) — She was much more in 
earnest than I thought she was. ( He says, in lamenting 
over her prostrate form.) I hope we both may suffer 
for this. I implore God to crush both Emanuel and my- 
self for the injury we have done you. I hope God will 
everlastingly torture him who has caused me to be the 
reluctant villain I am. I am the instrument of your 
bloodshed as his agent — its crimson drops shall tarnish 
our souls and absolve you from all sin and blame. God 
grant you may live ! 

(CURTAIN.) 



Scene: ACTIIL 

(Zella is sitting in an invalid's chair. Mary is 

nursing her. The stage is so arranged that there are 

two rooms exposed to the audience. A reception 

room and living room with partition between.) 

Emanuel (Enters the reception room and says to 

himself.) — I would love to enter in where Zella is and 



SO POEMS AND PLAYS 

caress her, for now I know she is pure and chaste, but 
I must see Joseph first. I will wait here for him. 

Mary (To Joseph, who is sitting near Zella in the 
living room.) — Had you not better go and summon a 
physician to attend to my mistress' wound? And one 
who will keep this all a secret? 

Joseph — I am so completely overcome I am unable to 
give you any advice, or haven't even the courage to get 
a physician. I am so grieved and my heart is so full of 
sorrow I am going to leave you, and I know not where 
I shall go. Good bye and may God protect you. 
( Goes into the reception room. ) 

Zella (Throws both of her hands and arms towards 
him suppliantly. ) — Must he go and leave me? 

( This is said in a low tone that Joseph is not sup- 
posed to hear. Joseph enters where Emanuel is and 
closes the door behind him. ) 

Joseph ( To Emanuel. ) — My God ! where is our man- 
hood? Think of the suffering we have caused that 
woman ! 

Emanuel — Answer me quickly, is the wound serious? 

Joseph — No, not the one from the dagger. But the 
one that has been inflicted by our plotted cunningness to 
penetrate the veneer of woman's virtue has rendered a 
septic intoxication that will poison our souls and cause 
a malignant and ignominious ending to all of us. 

Emanuel — No, no, not so ! It has only proven to me 
how pure she is, and that she would even dispose of her- 
self to prove herself chaste in my eyes. Joseph, I am 
sorry I have caused you so much anguish. I thank you 
for your invaluable service. I owe you a debt of grati- 
tude I can never pay ; you have tried to scare me by tell- 
ing me she was untrue to me, but I see it all now. 

Joseph — No, no, Emanuel, you are wrong, and you 
have been wronged and grievously wronged. To make 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 87 

restitution for the wrong, I will tell you all. I have 
been your friend in act, word and deed until I com-i 
menced this terrible work for you. I began it with a 
true and honest purpose, but her charms beguiled me 
from positive to negative, from manliness to femininity. 
I fell ; the would-be victor was vanquished. I love her ; 
I have kissed and caressed her, and she has kissed and 
caressed me. I know she cares for me. Listen for your- 
self. 

( Zella and the maid are talking. Emanuel listens 
at the door. ) 
Mary (To Zella.) — We did really play our part well, 
did we not, dear mistress? 

Zella — Yes, but I played my part too well. I did not 
intend hurting myself. I knew Emanuel was in the 
clothespress. I could see the conspiracy on his part all 
at once, and it really did aggravate me to the extent that 
I overdid the dagger act. I did it all to cause my hus- 
band to suffer for his doing what he has by me. My love 
has changed; I love Joseph. I hate Emanuel. I shall 
never tolerate his presence again. Joseph caused me 
pain, but he has caused me a few moments' happiness, 
for I really got to love him. 

(Emanuel, on hearing Zella, his beloved wife, re- 
veal her true convictions, withdraws a revolver and 
commits suicide. He falls across the threshold of 
the door. ) 
Joseph (With emotion, kneels over him, places his 
hand on his breast.) — Death ! Death is the correlation of 
my dear friend Emanuel's morbid curiosity. 

Zella (On hearing the report of the revolver, throws 
her hands to her head.) — He has killed himself. 

(Joseph leaves EmanuePs body and walks slowly 
up to Zella. He holds his hands out to her in an 
appealing and suppliant attitude. 



88 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Zella (As she shakes her head.) — Never. I once 
loved my husband and my home. I was ignorantly con- 
tented and happy until now. Your declarations of love 
were enchanting. They seemed heavenly to me. Those 
few moments were sweet and beautiful; your flowery 
words and poetic discourses drew my love from him to 
you. Joseph, I loved you with a love that shall ever be 
a pleasing memory, although it has ruined three, but out 
of duty to my soul, and to the memory of my dead hus- 
band, you must leave me, and forever. And you (to 
Mary ) go from me ; leave me m solitude that I may find 
solace in prayer to partly expiate my past. 

Mary — Dear mistress, I have called Doctor Calvin to 
attend your wound. Hark, I hear him now. 
(Enter Dr. Calvin.) 

(Joseph takes the revolver from Emanuel's hand 
where he lies on the floor and deliberately shoots 
himself, and falls at the side of Emanuel. ) 
Zella ( Screeches out. ) — All is lost ! All is lost ! He 
is dead. They are both dead. They are both dead. 

( The audience can plainly see Joseph's chest mov- 
ing in deep respiratory movements.) 
Dr. Calvin — He is not dead. Observe his respiration. 
He is probably slightly wounded. 

Mary — Yes, he still lives. He can be saved. 

(Zella rises from her chair. Mary and Zella move 
toward the two prostrate forms. Dr. Calvin kneels 
over Joseph's body. As Joseph ceases to respire the 
doctor places his head to Joseph's heart, then rises 
to his feet, removes his hat and says to Zella, "I beg 
your pardon, he is dead.") 
(Mary slowly makes her exit.) 
Zella (After they have gone, emotionally utters.) — 
Through sin, by both God and man I am forsaken. 

(CURTAIN.) 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 89 



GOOD-BYE, FOREVER 

(Written in London, 70 Uppergloster Place, near Re- 
gent's Park, during operation at the Hospital. ) 

Sad words upon our ears may fall, 

But none as sad — no, never, 
As they both tender, sweet and all, 

"Good-bye, Good-bye, forever." 

Perhaps 'twas well that we must part, 

Perhaps 'twas best to sever, 
But, Oh, the words that wrung my heart, 

The words, "Good-bye, forever." 

How oft we use the word farewell, 

It sounds so soft and clever; 
The truth, how oft, it does foretell, 

It is "Farewell, forever." 

When links in family chains are broke, 

And they're no more together, 
The living wear the sorrowing yoke, 

For the one that's gone forever. 

Ephemeral life of but a day, 

Friends are compelled to sever, 
Forced to earth, and forced away, 

Forever and forever. 

The leaves are dying and dropping fast, 

Birds of a tempered feather, 
Are flying, singing Summer's past, 

'Tis past and gone forever. 



90 POEMS AND PLAYS 



SEMEBAMUS 

CAST. 

Semeramus Leading Character 

Derceto Mother of Semeramus 

Menones King of Nineveh 

Ninus Prince Royal of Nineveh 

Hamed The Prophet 

Hassen Bey A Marshal 

Simmas A Shepherd 

Ceti A Bedouin 

Merodach A Marshal 

Daniel The Interpreter at Belshazzar's Feast 

Belshazzar King of Babylon, Dethroned 

Darius King of Babylon 

Satrap Gobrous Persian Satrap 

Lords. 

Princes. 

Princesses. 

Ladies Waiting. 

Queen of Belshazzar. 

Chancellors. 

Equerries. 

Procurator. 

Astrologers. 

Soothsayers. 

Magicians. 

The Multitude. 

Soldiers,, Et Cetera. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 91 



SEMERAMUS 

A Spectacular Drama in Six Acts 

(Copyright, 1911, by H. L. Chapin.) 

Time — Ancient. Place — Assyria. 

Historical Note: — Semeramus was the daughter of 
Derceto of Ascolon ; Decerto was a goddess, who though 
revered for her chastity, had yielded to the passionate 
love of an Assyrian youth. Afterwards, ashamed of her 
frailty, she made away with herself by diving into a small 
lake, and was transformed into a fish, leaving her child 
in the desert to die of exposure and hunger. The child 
was fed by doves carrying milk in their beaks from the 
royal dairies. After a year had passed, the child was 
found by Simmas, the shepherd of the King's flock, who 
took it to the king and he named the child Semeramus, 
meaning in the vernacular of that time and place, doves 
and fish. 

ACT I. 

Scene I. 

(Scene I is a dilapidated palace in Nineveh.) 
Enter Hamed, the Prophet. He mounts the battle- 
ments of this palace and calls like a modern Kiom- 
bush from the minaret of a Mohammedan mosque. 
Hamed — Men of Allah, Man of Allah. 

( The commonwealth congregate about him. ) 
Decerto shall be transformed into a fish, an earthly 
reincarnation. 

The dame shall conceive with Adonis, the youth. Thy 
progeny will be the redeeming Princess Semeramus. 



92 POEMSANDPLAYS 

There will appear upon these plains a maiden, born in 
destitution, with placid brow, heavenly eyes and noble 
heart. Through her and her alone will the sullied acts of 
our progenitors be obliterated. Men, brothers, laity, this 
is the psychological moment to manifest our pugnacity of 
spirit and reclaim the valor of our forefathers. Oh, men, 
stimulate your aspiration, appeal, appease and apply! 
If man declines into lassitude, his posterty will degener- 
ate into hobgoblins, not into a Zeus, an Apollo or a Her- 
cules, not into the limner's nymph of the forest, but into 
the lowest type of animal degeneracy. The birds have 
their home in the bough, in the branch, in the blue, the 
fish in the depths of the sea, and the animals that bur- 
row, in the ground. God sees to this willingly. He gave 
them their garments, their feathers, their hair, but man, 
the son of man, the wonder, the nomadic human race 
that must survey both sea and plain, and weave garments 
for trunk and limb and build their habitations by their 
own hands — ah, men, you have heard my exhortations of 
the hour, and you will see their subsequent truth. I am 
a self-proclaimed prophet. I have been sent to you as a 
prophet. Our country is now under the dominion of 
other nations, ruled by the heathen princes of heathen 
kings. We can raise that galling yoke. There is one in 
our midst that will command the forces in the battle- 
field (pointing to Hassen Bey) who is a bedouin of great 
physical strength and endurance. He has, as you all 
well known, proven his strategy in war many times. 
Rally around his banner, sons of men, sons of Nineveh ! 
We will make a new Nineveh. (Hassen Bey unsheaths 
his sword. ) 

Hassen Bey — I will support upon the field of battle 

» 

the princess of Prophecy that springeth from a fish, is 
nourished by the doves and cometh to wield the sceptres, 
and sitteth upon the throne that will give birth to itself, 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 93 

a new constitution, a strong dominion and a new moral 
code. 

(Enter Derceto before the multitude, with out- 
stretched hands, appealing to the prophet. ) 

Derceto — Prophet of God, Prophet of Nineveh, what 
can I do to expiate the past and make restitution for the 
future? I have corrupted my body, sullied my soul, and 
blighted my future. 

Hamed — Woman, Woman, what is the cause of thy 
anguish? What hast thou done, what iniquity hast thou 
committed? 

The Multitude (Unanimously.) — Tell us! Tell us! 

Derceto — It was a youth, Adonis, whom I loved too 
well and not wisely. Adonis, Adonis! My child, my 
child ! 

Hamed — "Adonis, my child !" What of the child, 
where is the child? 

Derceto — She is left far away to die. 

Hamed — Adonis is the father of the child, you say? 

Derceto — How frail, how weak a fool I was, to throw 
myself away to a youth. I thought I loved him — he 
thought he loved me, and it was but lust. Ah ! fool that 
I was. 

Hamed — There is some good in every act of mankind, 
my woman. What you have done, though it may have 
been sin, and has caused you much remorse, God has 
willed it so, and what He wills is best. 

(At this Derceto dives into a nearby lake and 
is transformed into a fish.) 

Hamed — Citizens, this is the beginning of the truth 
of my prophecy. We now must seek the child. The 
child in time will rule the world, and metamorphize 
the Babylonian Pagan. 

(CURTAIN.) 



94 POEMS AND PLAYS 

ACT II. 
Scene I. 

(This scene is a desert. The infant is being fed 

by doves carrying milk in their beaks from the royal 

dairies. Shepherds are roving about until they come 

upon the child. They take the infant to Simmas, 

Shepherd of the King's flock. ) 

Simmas (Receiving the infant.) — Heavenly sent and 

fatherly received, for I have heard the words of the 

Prophet Hamed. I will remove my precious charge to 

my Prince Menones. 

Menones — This is my fostered princess, Semeramus, 
the heavenly chosen, born of a fish and must turn into a 
dove. Semeramus shall in days to come be queen consort 
to my son Ninus, and redeem the hearts and souls of 
Chaldea, Assyria and Asia Minor. Let Nineveh rejoice. 
Scene II. 

(Throne room of the Palace at Nineveh, King 

Menones is sitting on the throne with sceptre in 

hand. Fifteen years have elapsed.) 

Menones — Curator of the palace, I desire you to have 

Sosana, the nurse, bring Semeramus before me. Tell 

Ninus, my son, to come before the King. 

(Enter Ninus, saluting his father.) 
Ninus — Salamma ! Salamma ! 

(The King's retinue is about him. His exchequer, 
procurators, equerries and some of his vassals. 
Semeramus enters beside the nurse, Sosana. They 
salute him and bow complacently. ) 
Menones — Remain standing. Ninus, you are my only 
son. I have raised you with care. You have been a good, 
obedient son. I have reached the apex of my earthly 
career. I no longer can wield the sceptre or rod of jus- 
tice. I tender you my throne, as I abdicate on account of 
my senile lethargy, and your adolescencing vivacity. My 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 95 

prince ! my boy ! I also offer you, as your well earned 
bounty, Seineramus, the heavenly endowed, as your 
Queen. Semeramus, the redeemed of human souls, the 
deliverer. Semeramus, the impartial, the just, the beau- 
tiful, the hope of the Zellots, the captives of Israel, in 
walls of Babylon. She, the prophesied, is to be the de- 
liverer. Ninus, my boy and king. I give you her unto 
wife and Queen, with my blessing. A King's benison. 

(Ninus and Semeramus join hands. He raises 
her left hand gently to his lips as he tenderly kisses 

it.) 

Ninus — And you will be my faithful Queen ; the Queen 
that joins heaven with the earth. You will subdue 
foreign chaffing and the itching and ills of our own peo- 
ple, and render into the profundity of hell, the levity of 
the world on Nineveh's decline and decay. 

(Semeramus and Prince Ninus are crowned by 
the dying King. ) 
Menones — I crown you in the name of the gods. I- 
command you to follow the magna charta of thy father 
and King. Make some change in thy moral code that 
prevaileth at this day. Reduce thy budget to a lawful 
equanimity. Do not judge for the one at the expense of 
the other. In thy reign relieve from their bondage thy 
persecuted Babylonian Jews. Let these men of captivity 
go to their Israel of the West and take up their abode in 
their own dear Promised Land. This crusade has been 
my earthly desire, but my age will not permit. But, 
Ninus, my son, you, with the help of Semeramus, the 
Semeramus endowed with the power of the gods, you 
Semeramus, the goddess Queen, you, who have their lives 
before you, can do all. 

(Semeramus and Ninus, after being crowned, 
rise from their knees. Semeramus makes her coro- 
nation Homily. ) 



96 P0EM8ANDPLAYS 

Semeramus — My King, my Preceptor, my father, 
friend, counsellor and guide, I pray to the Holy Paraclete 
to bless you on earth and to give you a chamber in the 
mansions of God in Heaven. I will in the future en- 
deavor to please your memory. I will endeavor to make 
my life a paragon moulded by your teachings. Your 
benignant smiles, your obtrusive reproaches, your will- 
ing guidance, your dictatorial precepts, your spirit of 
loyalty and your ambition for a betterment of mankind, 
and your grace as a King and citizen of the world, I will 
always fondly cherish in my memory. I will relate to 
you the prophecy of my life to come. Nature gave me 
the form of a woman. My deeds will raise me to the 
most valiant of man. I will rule the Empire of Ninus, 
which in the East will touch the Ganges, on the South, 
the Indian Ocean and Land of Sabea, the land of incense 
and myrrh; on the North the country of the Sogdians. 
Until now no Assyrian has ever seen the sea or navigated 
its waters. I will subdue to my power ; I will construct 
rivers to flow as I direct. I will render barren lands fer- 
tile. I will build strong fortresses. I will build roads 
over mountains never conceived of before. With my 
silver I will pave highways and byways into the desert. 
I will rebuild the temple of Babylon, when I conquer her, 
and I will unlock the chains and fetters that have so long- 
bound the captive Jew. I will have them go to their 
Israel and Judea of the West and let them rebuild their 
Temple of the Soul at Jerusalem. 

(At this time King Menones hands his sceptre 
to his son Ninus. ) 

King Menones — Go thou thy way, the rulers of future 
nations and kings. ( He leans forward and falls from the 
throne dead, and is caught by a soldier.) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 97 

ACT III. 

Scene I. 

(Assyrian desert. Assyrian, Persians, Baby- 
lonians, Medes, et cetera, are all more or less no- 
madic. Semeramus and Mnus are at the head of 
their great host. They are in the advance guards 
on dromedaries and white Arabian horses. Sem- 
eramus is on a beautiful white charger of Arabian 
blood. Their majestic retinue and imperial guard are 
mounted on horses and camels. Hassen Bey, the field 
marshal, is also on a white charger. He is second 
in command. Their colors are flying to the desert 
zephyrs. As they march and cross the Euphrates, 
they encounter Merodach and his imperial army. 
Nebuchadnezzar has sent him to' meet the enemy. 
The scenery should be the Assyrian desert and 
soldiers in uniform. In the far distance the ruins 
of the Tower of Nimrod, Tomb of Ezra on the 
Tigres, Hanging Gardens, et cetera, can be seen. 
The two armies come within archers' distance of 
each other.) 
Hassen Bey (Approaching the side of Semeramus, 
speaking in an earnest tone.) — War and bloodshed is 
inevitable. I can save our soldiers, and / will do it for 
— / will do it for — Semeramus. Speak quickly, this is 
a crucial moment. I love you. I will conquer the enemy 
without the unsheathing of but one blade. I will do 
it for your love, for one touch of your imperial grace. 
Your beauty inspires me to do and say what I now have 
said. Give me one scintilla of your love, and I will — 
Semeramus — You will do what? How can a scintilla 
of my love ever conquer the forces of Babylon now in 
the field four hundred thousand strong? How can and 
how will you go about it? Speak — speak quickly; the 
enemy are charging and making ready for conquest. 



98 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Hassen Bey — Ceti is their bedouin whom they rely 
on in single combat. He is a giant in stature. He has 
always conquered. For your love I will meet him and 
fight unto death, if necessary, to conquer. 

Semerasmus — You already have my love as far as a 
queen of your nation can love her war chief, but you ask 
more than I can give. I want the Chaldeans crushed. 
I want them to make amends for the wrongs they have 
done to our forefathers, and by crushing the followers 
of the Passover. Did not the Lord say, "For, lo, I will 
raise and cause to come up against Babylon an assembly 
of great nations from the north countries, and they shall 
set themselves in array against her from whence she shall 
be taken. Their arrows shall be as if mighty expert 
man. Men shall return in vain, and Cheldea shall be a 
spoil and all that spoil her shall be satisfied, saith the 
Lord." I can see the Babylonian colors; their broad 
blades reflect the light from their sharp whetted bodkins. 
Merodach is in command of the hostile forces ahead of 
us. O, Lord of Nippur, help me to decide what is best 
to do to fight with the army's entire force, or by single 
combat. Direct me to do as I should to redeem the 
polluted covenant of Sinai. I know I am not quite of the 
Jehovistic cult, but there has been implanted a nucleus 
of that righteous godly precept in my soul. Nehemiah 
and Ezra, the promulgators of the Pentateuch as the 
eternal law of the land, and Ezekiel, the prophet, are my 
supporters to the cause of Judah and Judaism. At this 
crucial moment, do what you can and I will offer you 
my hand, my heart and my very soul, if need be, if — if — 
well, if not for Ninus. But he is my husband now 
though, Hamed, do what you can. I may be able to pay 
my debts and redeem my pledges at some future date. 

Hassen Bey — Leave that all to me. I will arrange it 
all. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 99 

( He kisses her hand. ) 
Semeramus (Soliloquizing to herself.) — I hate him, 
but I must subterfuge and pretend I care for him, and if 
he can win the day by his strategy and valor, I will — 

I 

(A clash in the ranks. Ninus has been assassin- 
ated by one of his own soldiers. Semeramus looks 
poignantly at Hassen Bey, for she thinks at once he 
has killed him. ) 
Semeramus — Is Ninus, the King, injured? 
Hassen Bey — Yes, he is killed ; he has been killed by 
one of the guard. 

Semeramus (To the audience.) — He is the conspirator 
himself. 

(To an officer.) 
Take him in custody. 

Hassen Bey — He shall be pierced through the heart 
at sunrise to-morrow. The flag of truce is unfurled to 
the breeze of the plains. 

Semeramus ( To her aide-de-camp. ) — We must have a 
council of war. 

Hassen Bey — I will send a messenger to Merodach at 
once. 

(Merodach and his aide come to Semeramus's 
camp. ) 
Semeramus (To Merodach.) — I am about to campaign 
for the upliftment of mankind. Feudalism is your gov- 
ernment. By force you conquer, by force you maintain, 
by force you increase, by force you abate. You have 
scattered the Zellots; you have taken into captivity the 
once dominating power of the West. You imprisoned 
the most representative of those men, men of affluence 
and influence of the Semitic race. You have imprisoned 
their King, Jehoiachim, for this crime, and you must 
answer me. 



100 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Semeramus (To Hassen Bey.) — Call order in the 
ranks. You have arrested the perpetrators of that hor- 
rid crime of murder. I cannot weep; I will have to 
mourn later. The enemy are advancing. Hassen Bey, 
fiy the flag of truce. We are having a council of war. 

Merodach (To Semeramus.) — Be at perfect ease. I 
am the commander, and they will not fight until I give 
the command. They are manoeuvring. I am here at 
your service, your Koyal Highness. What is the nature 
of the question to be propounded at this council? I did 
not come here to be reprimanded for the acts and deeds 
of my forefathers. 

Semeramus — I will continue to reproach you. You 
imprisoned the King of Israel, causing voluntary exile 
into Egypt. You have brought many into your own cap- 
itol of Babylon as captives. By so doing, you have 
wrought the anguish of both God and man. Now, you 
Chaldeans must take up the Pilgrims' staff and evacuate 
beyond the river Indus and set free your captive Jews. 
Capitulate or fight, either by the entire army or by single 
combat. 

Merodach — You speak of my country and people's 
bad qualities, but you do not mention their redeeming 
features and traits of character. Have not my people 
from the Nebo-Babylonian dynasty been a classical, stu- 
dious race? Have we not uplifted and inspired or en- 
gendered into our people erudition, science, learning, art 
and religion? Has not our country been the cradle of 
the world? Is it not true within her domains are found 
the Garden of Allah ? Have we not produced the Adam 
and Eve of civilization, and have not tribes wandered 
from our midst to Caucasia, Mongolia, Manchuria, 
Cathay and Hindoostan? Have we not been the fathers 
of the Tartars, the Persians and nomadic Huns, who in 
the future, according to the words of the Prophet, will 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 101 

build a Rome, discover a Gaul, produce a CJiarlemagne, 
give birth to a Caesar, and St. George? In the name of 
the priests of Merodach, why do you impute so much 
crime to us and reproach us as a nation of evil doers, 
when you can see our munificence and glory of past ages? 
What is the desideratum? What concession do you want 
granted? You are a fair and beautiful Queen. Any- 
thing without depreciating my country or its people I 
will do for your Majesty, the Queen of Nineveh. What 
can it be? Speak! Speak! 

Hassen Bey (Raising his sword to cut down Mero- 
dach.) — No more such overtures to a Queen of Nineveh 
from a Babylonian. What license have you to speak of 
her beauty? She is mine. I love her ; I will die for her. 
I am to fight in single combat at this hour with your 
brave Bedouin Ceti, for, to desire the title of Chaldea, 
this is the cause of the truce. Are you in favor of this 
procedure, or do you want the armies to meet and shed 
much blood? 

Merodach — I will throw the dice, the best two out of 
three; if you win, you fight in single combat with my 
brave Ceti. 

(They throw the dice and Merodach is beaten.) 

Hassen Bey — I will meet him with sword and es- 
cutcheon. If I fall, the noble Semeramus will retreat to 
her own dominion, but if Ceti falls, the Babylonian world 
must fall with him. If we lose, we will indemnify you 
for trespassing on your territory with mammon pelf 
commensurate to your loss incurred by your long march. 

Merodach — Ceti is of consummate skill to meet you in 
single combat. Here he is; make ready for your duel. 

(Ceti and Hassen Bey face each other. Each 
army is drawn up in line facing one another. They 
have their combat between the firing lines of the 
two armies.) 



102 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Semeramus — I command you to fight ! 
Hassen Bey (Leaving the side of Semeramus to meet 
his opponent. He kisses her hand, saying.) — I would 
fight the entire army for your love. 

(Hassen Bey strikes the first blow. After a few 
minutes' fighting, Hassen Bey receives a wound in 
the heart that fells him to the sand to die as he 
says:) 
Hassen Bey — All for a woman I die ! 

( Semeramus at once takes command of the army. 
She violates all ethics of warfare. ) 
Semeramus — I will not try to support or maintain the 
dignity of war truce, for my will is God's will. I will 
crush you still. Captains, at your posts! Attention! 
Charge! Crush them and incinerate them into the very 
soil they have so polluted by their many years of 
iniquity. 

(There is a charge of archers, a chafing of falch- 
ions ; they clash and clash. The army of Merodach 
is pierced and routed in utter defeat.) 
(CURTAIN.) 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. 

( The setting of this scene is an oasis or fertile spot 
in the desert in Chaldea near Lydia. Semeramus 
and her soldiers are in camp. They can see an army 
in the distance approaching. Merodach and Ceti 
are her prisoners of war. ) 
Merodach ( To Semeramus. ) — You have held me here 
many days as your prisoner. Although my downfall will 
cause the downfall of Babylon, the pleasure of being a 
prisoner of one as fair and beautiful as your Highness, 
I would even knowingly sacrifice all for these few mo- 
ments. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 103 

( Kneels before her. ) 
I love you from now on. I will turn traitor to my 
prince and country. High treason is not high treason 
when one gives his life, love and courage to propagate 
your philanthropic mission. Let me be your Prince Con- 
sort and husband. I will take command of your army. 
Many Voices — No, Babylon shall command us. 

(A messenger rides swiftly up to Semeramus.) 
The Messenger — I am from the army of Cyrus, the 
Persian. They are now in the distance yonder. This is 
the message that Satrap Gobrous sends to the Queen, 
Semeramus. 

Semeramus (Eeading message from scroll.) — "I am 
aware of your routing and putting to flight the troops of 
the detached Babylonian army. I have learned your 
great cause. I am at the head of the troops of Cyrus, 
the son of Cambus. I am the conqueror of Lydia from 
Cresus. I appeal to you to join our armies and share 
our fortune. You are aiming for the same panacea that 
we are. It is a commendable cause. I have vanquished 
Cresus. You have taken Akaad. We will take Seppona 
and march on to Babylon. Answer me at once. I am 
General in command. (Signed) Satrap Gobrous." 

( Semeramus meditates for a moment and gives a 

message to him to give to Satrap Gobrous.) 

Semeramus — Deliver this message to Gobrous. Tell 

him to join me at once. Before I can answer a question 

of such import, I will have to consult my staff. of officers. 

Go ! Go, and tell him to come. 

(Enter Gobrous with his aide-de-camp. He is 
gowned in the robes of a field marshal, wearing upon 
his breast medals signifying his position in Persian 
Diplomacy. He makes his bow to Semeramus, and 
she receives him in council at her camp while in 
bivouac. ) 



104 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Gobrous — Semeramus, you well know the motive of my 
visit ( Kissing her hand). My members of co-ordination 
are recreant to my heart. I have heard much of your 
governing power, but more of your celebrated beauty. 
And now, since I behold the ideal of my imagination, I 
am entranced by your physical grace. You have stolen 
my heart. I am entranced by your presence. Instead 
of a council of war, it shall be a council of peace and love ; 
instead of conflict, it shall be concord. Since you have 
been near me, the canopy of heaven is a sapphire dome. 
The breath of the flowers is sweeter. Your voice is the 
vocal chant of the nightingale. I love you! You are 
for me; you cannot say no; I am too powerful. My 
King's domains are from the Mediterranean Sea to the 
Hindoo Kush — from the Caspian and Black Seas on the 
north to the Indian Ocean on the south. I can consume 
your army and take you prisoner. You are in my power. 

Semeramus — You are saying to me what no man has 
dared to say before, that / must; that you will compel 
me. I have never been compelled, and I never shall be. 
You imagine your power too great, Satrap Gobrous. 

Gobrous — I am a dethroner of Kings. 

Semeramus — I am to be, and your King may be my 
future prey, if you speak to me as you do. 

Gobrous — My King is the founder of Persia, and I 
being his Satrap, the world and all therein must answer 
to my questions of love, for they are to me the most para- 
mount at this hour. I have tried to arbitrate on peace- 
able terms. I have tried to harmonize with your affec- 
tion. Our lot will be in common. My fortune will be 
your fortune, my pleasure will be your pleasure, my 
castle will be your castle, my crown your crown, and my 
God your God! What more can I do or say? Two 
people cannot rule over Babylon at once, and I will not 
make yon a vassal of adjoining states. I want you under 



B Y H. L. V E A P I N, M. D. 105 

my roof. // must be, oy force! This is the irony of my 
will. I will wait for your ultimatum. I will now leave 
you to think alone. I must know in one hour, or I will 
commence hostilities. 

( Takes her hand gently and kisses it, and returns 
to his camp. ) 

(Semeramus throws herself onto a lion's skin that 
has been laid there by one of her eunuchs. She lies 
in pensive thought, slightly bolstered up by her arm 
supporting her head.) 
Semeramus — I have never been so completely daunted 
before in heart and mind. My heart went out to him 
at first, but the predominating attitude he has assumed 
has caused me to remain silent. I could have accepted 
anything from him at first. I know the dictatorial atti- 
tude he assumes is so characteristic of the Persians. I 
should have made allowances, but instead it kindled a 
flame into my very soul. I will not be driven by man or 
beast. Hand me the tablet of clay. I will send him the 
cuneiform ultimatum. 

(She writes and sends the ultimatum.) 
Take this, courier, and deliver it to Satrap Gobrous. 
War is inevitable. Blow the bugle, sound the kettle 
drum! Captains, your troops in readiness! 

(When the troops are in line she reviews them. 

The two armies meet. They clash their swords and 

spears together. The fight is short and decisive. 

Gobrous wins the battle. He takes Semeramus 

prisoner of war. He surrounds her with his guard 

of soldiers. ) 

Gobrous — Semeramus, you are a noble woman. Your 

courage only stimulates my affection for you. You have 

played and lost. I would have done as you did had I 

been so situated. You have no resource now, and but 

one redress, and that is 



106 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Leaning his head forward.) 
Semeramus — Is what? 

Gobrous — Is to 

Semeramus — Love you. 

( She approaches Gobrous and he places his arms 
about her neck, and they embrace each other. ) 
I will be your queen and wife. 

Gobrous — We will march on to Babylon and share 
love and honor. 

(CURTAIN.) 

ACT V. 
Scene I. 

(This stage setting is in view of the great walls 
of Babylon. The curtain rises. Satrap Gobrous 
and Semeramus are together on a palanquin. They 
have just reached Babylon. ) 
Gobrous — We have fought one engagement together, 
my noble Queen. We have won the battle of Seppona 
for Persia, Nineveh and the world. And now we are 
to strike the final note, the note that has been the tenor 
of your life, and that is to take Babylon. Nebuchad- 
nezzar is at Terma. His son, Belshazzar, is on the 
throne. The Assyrians and your former army are now 
allied with the Persian army. The Babylonians must 
surrender to-night. 

"Belshazzar's grave will be made, his kingdom passed 

away, 
He'll be in his balance laid of vile and worthless clay, 
His shroud will be the coat of state, his canopy of stone, 
The Mede is at his gate, the Persian on his throne." 

Scene II. 

(This scene is the interior of the Temple of 
Nebuchadnezzar. The great feast of Tammuz is in 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 107 

vogue. A large banquet table is set and there are 
great columns that form naves in the hall. Belshaz- 
zar is sitting on an improvised throne, elevated above 
the rest of the people present. 
Belshazzar — Fill again the goblets of gold with 
heathen wine, the goblets from the temple of the West 
and from the Holy of the Holies. Let the heathen, 
satraps, princes, lords, and all, drink from the cup of 
Solomon. The wine will make you merry from its gold. 
( They hold the goblets to their lips and drink. ) 
Belshazzar, live for ever, thou son of Nebuchadnezzar, 
the King ! 

(The concubines and ladies of the court have a 
Chaldean dance. As the dance is over Belshazzar's 
face assumes a grave appearance. He utters : ) 
My joints are becoming loosened. 

(Near the candelabra, on the plaster of the wall 
appears part of a man's hand, writing these Hebrew 
words : ) 

"MENE— MENE— TEKEL— UPHARSIN." 

Belshazzar — Bring in the astrologers, the soothsayers 
and Chaldeans. Whosoever shall read that writing and 
show me the interpretation thereof shall be clothed with 
scarlet and have a chain of gold about his neck, and shall 
be the third ruler in the kingdom. 
( Enter Wise Men. ) 
Wise Men — We cannot make known the writing. 
( Lords enter. ) 

(Belshazzar's Queen enters.) 
Queen — Oh, King, live forever ! Let not thy thoughts 
trouble thee, nor let thy countenance be changed. 
( Lords mutter. ) 
Lords — There is a man in the kingdom in whom is 



108 POEMS AND PLAYS 

the spirit of the Holy Gods and in the days of thy father, 
light, understanding and wisdom of the gods was found 
in him, whom the King, Nebuchadnezzar, thy father, the 
King, made master of magicians, soothsayers and as- 
trologers, because of his ability in interpreting of 
dreams, showing of hard sentences, and this is Daniel, 
whom thy father named, Belhazar. Now, let him be 
called, and he will show the interpretation. 

Belshazzar — I command thee of the Lord to go forth 
and bring Daniel before me. 

The Lords — At your command, we will seek Daniel. 
( Enter Daniel. ) 

Belshazzar (To Daniel.) — Art thou that Daniel 
which art of the children of the captivity of Judah, 
whom the King, my father, brought out of Jewry? I 
have even heard of thee, that the spirit of the Gods is in 
thee, and that light and understanding and excellent 
wisdom is in thee, and I have heard that thou canst make 
interpretations and dissolve doubts. And now, if thou 
canst read the writing and make known to me the inter- 
pretation thereof, thou shalt be clothed with scarlet, and 
shall have a chain of gold about thy neck, and shall be 
the third ruler of the kingdom. 

Daniel — Let thy gifts be to thyself, and give the re- 
wards to another, yet I will read the writing unto the 
King and make known the interpretation. God gave 
Nebuchadnezzar, thy father, thy kingdom, thy majesty, 
glory and honor, and for thy majesty that he gave him, 
all people, nations and languages trembled and feared be- 
fore him. Whom he would, he slew. Whom he would, 
he kept alive ; and whom he would he kept up, and whom 
he would he put down. But when his heart was lifted up 
and his mind hardened in pride, he was deposed from 
his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him, and 
he was driven from the sons of men and his heart was 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 109 

made like the beasts, and his dwelling was with the wild 
asses; they fed him with grass like oxen, and his body 
was wet with the dew of heaven, till he knew the most 
high God ruled in the kingdom of men. And thou, his 
son, Oh Belshazzar, hast not humbled thy heart, though 
thou knowest all this, but hast lifted up thyself against 
the Lord of Heaven, and they have brought the vessels 
from his house, and thou, thy lords, and thy wives and 
concubines have drunk wine in them, and thou hast 
praised the Gods of Gold, Silver, Iron, Brass and Stone, 
which hear not, see not, or know not, and the God whose 
hand thy breath is in, you have not glorified. Then was 
the part of the hand sent from him, and this writing was 
written ; and this is the interpretation: "Mene" — "God 
hath numbered thy kingdom and finished it." "Tekel" — 
"Thou art weighed in the balance and are found want- 
ing." "Upharsin" — "Thy kingdom is divided and is 
given to the Medes and Persians." 

Belshazzar (Dropping his head and weeping.) — 
Clothe Daniel with scarlet and make a proclamation that 
he shall be the third ruler in the kingdom ! 

The Queen of Balshazzar — Hark, hark ! is it thunder 
I hear? 

One of the Lords — No, no! 'Tis a chariot in the 
street ! 

Belshazzar — No, no ! 'Tis the Hark ! 'Tis the 

army of the Medes and Persians. The day, the very hour 
has come. 

(Enter the soldiers of Semeramus and Satrap 
Gobrous. They batter the palace doors down with 
a battering ram. ) 

Semeramus (To Belshazzar.) — You have been the 
idolatrous king, the son of an idolator, you have dese- 
crated the vessels with your heathen toast. Now you 



110 POEMS AND PLAYS 

must die — you must die — die as you have lived, a heathen. 
Soldiers, I command you to kill, slay him ! 
( He is slain. ) 

(CURTAIN.) 



ACT VI. 

Scene I. 

(This scene is the interior of the throne room of 
the palace. Ninety days have elapsed since the 
death of Balshazzar. Darius, the Mede, has been 
crowned a King of Babylon. Darius is on the 
throne as the curtain rises. His lords, chancellors, 
exchequers, princes, et cetera, are about him. ) 
One of the Lords (To Darius.) — King Darius, you 
have been crowned King of this great empire, not by the 
power of the Medes alone, but by the help and overwhelm- 
ing prestige of Semeramus, the consort vassal queen of 
the Persian Satrap Gobrous. It has been her strategy 
and crusade that has crumbled the throne of the Chal- 
deans and raised yours to the highest pinnacle of kingly 
leadership. I move that we adopt resolutions, that on 
the annual arrival of the date of the conquering of Baby- 
lon, it shall be a legal holiday in honor of her Majesty, 
the Vassal Queen Semeramus. 

(The motion is seconded and unanimously car- 
ried.) 

( Enter Daniel. ) 
Daniel — I am second in power to the king, your Royal 
Highness. I have come to plead my own case. There is 
a conspiracy against me. I am accused of idolatry. I 
can only say I am innocent of the charge imputed to me. 
My windows are open thrice daily in the direction of 
Jerusalem, as I make my supplication known to God, my 
God, the God of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob ! 



BY H. L. C E A P I N, M. D. Ill 

Darius — Did you not know of the decree that no peti- 
tioning should be made to any God or man except the 
King for thirty days? 

Daniel — I did know that such a petition was extant. 

Darius — Then you have violated the laws of your 
country and office as a Satrap. 

Prince, Princesses, Lords and Chroniclers — Daniel 
must be punished. He must be thrown into the lions' 
den. 

{CURTAIN.) 



Scene II. 

(This scene is an amphitheatre in the shape of a 
crest, with the lions' den in the center, with the royal 
box in the center of the amphitheatre for the king 
and his retinue. ) 

(Curtain rises. Darius and his counsellors and 
the queen and her ladies in waiting are seated in the 
royal box with the multitude about the amphitheatre 
beneath. Daniel is brought in by soldiers. As he is 
about to be thrust into the lions' den, Semeramus 
enters. ) 
Darius — Have you just arrived from Terma? 
Semeramus — I have, your Majesty. 
Darius — Then you are in time to see the idolator con- 
sumed by the lions. 

( Semeramus does not answer, but looks at Daniel. 

Daniel looks appealingly and extends his hands 

toward her, in a suppliant attitude. ) 

Semeramus — Darius, Oh, King of Babylon, I am 

power in part, I am queen consort in one of the vassals 

of imperial Persia. I have a legal as well as a moral 

right to reproach you for the wrong you are about to 

perpetrate on this Holy Man. How unbecoming of a 



112 POEMS AND PLAYS 

king, a king born of the Medes — how wrong to throw 
flesh that contains the soul of Jehovah into the jaws and 
talons of the angry beasts ! He is the blood of the cap- 
tive Jews ! I will consecrate my prayers to Jehovah to 
supplicate this Holy Man. Your actions of this hour 
will be futile. He will be as Shadrach, Meshach and 
Abed Nego, whom thy father, Nebuchadnezzar, cast in 
the fiery furnace. 

Darius (To his soldiers.) — Proceed to cast him into 
the lions' den. 

( They cast him in. Daniel holds his arms out to 
Semeramus as he enters the den. ) 
Daniel (To Semeramus.) — You are not alone queen 
of one of Persia's vassalages, but queen of all women. 
The queen with a Godly soul. 

Semeramus — God of Heaven bless and protect you, 
Daniel. 

( The lions play about him and lie on their backs 
and purr. Semeramus is praying on her knees. 
Darius looks astonished.) 
Darius — Daniel, are you hurt? 

Daniel — No, King, Oh, King Darius. The spirit of 
God has closed the mouths of the lions and they cannot 
hurt me. 

Darius — Peace be multiplied unto you. Darius, thy 
king from the Medes and Semeramus, the queen consort 
of the Persians, we jointly make the decree that in every 
dominion of our kingdom and subsidiary estates, men 
tremble in fear before the God of Daniel, for his is the 
living God and steadfast forever, and his kingdom that 
which shall not be destroyed, and his dominion shall be 
ever unto the end. 

(At this point a deep shadow comes over the en- 
tire scene. A halo of light is thrown about Seme- 
ramus. She is robed in a diaphanous gown with a 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 113 

diadem of lilies. She is all that can be seen on the 
stage. The rest have made their exits.) 
Semeramus — I have consulted the oracle of Jupiter 
in my earthly days. My life was saved, saved for a 
Godly purpose. I was to liberate the Jews from their 
captivity. I was to pierce the fragile fabric of idolatry. 
Though I have sprung from a fish and my cradle was the 
sands, and my guardian a shepherd, and my nurse the 
doves, I have fulfilled the prophecy; I have helped to 
save the sons of men. I came from a fish, I go into a 
bird. With my pinions I will soar to realms of God and 
of Heaven. 

(She turns into a bird and flies above the drop 
curtain and back of the scenery.) 

(CURTAIN.) 



114 POEMS AND PLAYS 

A VALENTINE FOR VALENTINE 

By Anna Fries Chapin. 
(Written for my son on St. Valentine's Day, 1913, 
at Cleveland, Ohio.) 
Valentine, this verse is mine ; 
Accept it as a valentine, 
For in that word — between each line — 
Your mother's heart's in "Valentine." 

My son, I'll tell you in this way — 
As heaven ushers in this day — 
For seven years I've thought of mine, 
My absent son, sweet Valentine. 

I even feel within the air — 
You love me still. "The vacant chair" 
Is always welcome for the one — 
My only child, my only son. 

For your youthful grace I pine — 
Please forgive me yours and thine. 
I hope like bells our souls may chime, 
Sweet Valentine, My Valentine. 

On Hallow Eve, at death of light, 
The sun went down with him that night ; 
The sun of heaven returned with morn, 
Tho' not the boy from whom was torn. 

A mother's heart that beats in time, 
With words that ring in every clime, 
"Where is my boy tonight?" that stole 
My all — my heart — my life — my soul? 

Where, dear Lord, in suppliant jest, 

I've looked both North, East, South and West 

And still the throbs within my chest, 

That seem to breathe the word, "The blessed," 

Will read this love — Heaven caused to rhyme, 

"A Valentine for Valentine." 




ANNA FRIES CHAPIN 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 115 



THE ECCENTRIC PHILOSOPHER 

Time — Present. Place — New York City. 

CAST. 

Joseph Calvin Bookkeeper, Philosopher 

Vaughan Dupa, 

Cashier of Commercial Savings & Trust Company 

Bank 
William Edson, 

Assistant Cashier of the same Bank; makes his 

home with Dupa 

Mr. Frederick Vane Owner of Bank 

Mrs. Ella Dupa . Wife of Cashier, who has much wealth 

Dorothy Bryant Fiancee of Mr. Wm. Edson 

Mary Occonal Maid for Dupa 

ACT I. 

Scene 1 — The Interior of the Bank. 

(As the curtain rises, they are in their several 
places in their clerical capacity. Joseph Calvin sit- 
ting at a desk in the back part of the Bank, writing 
and arranging papers. This character is large in 
stature, with large, deep, penetrating eyes and heavy 
black eyebrows. The eyebrows or orbicular muscles 
move when he thinks and talks. He has a heavy 
voice, walks with heavy step and precise. He al- 
ways dresses in Prince Albert coat and silk hat 
which are worn and somewhat old. There before 
the Teller's window is the first cashier, Mr. Vaughan 
Dupa. He at this time is computing a column of 
figures. ) 



116 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Vaughan Dupa — Say, Calvin. 

Calvin — Sir. 

Dupa — Have you been observing of late the nunier- 
out automobile trips Mr. Edson takes, and always ac- 
companied by Miss Dorothy B ? If you observe, it 

must be his sedulous attention to her is costing him more 
than his salary of $90 per month will afford. 

Calvin ( Turns slightly in his chair in a cold, stiff atti- 
tude. ) — You do not mean to insinuate, I pray, as to Mr. 
Edson's veracity. 

Dupa — Oh, I do not insinuate ; I just wonder. 
(Ejaculates a supercilious laugh.) 

Calvin (As he turns in his chair with penetrating 
eyes.) — Dupa, were you not a young man at one time? 
Did not our great good God endow you as well as most 
all other young men with that desire — that most edify- 
ing desire, and the most divine attribute of man, caring 
for the opposite sex, especially when they are pure in 
mind, tender in soul and graceful in their general aspect, 
like Miss Dorothy? 

Dupa — Ah! Men of your panegyrics on morality at 
this date, Mr. Calvin ! Woman is worth what pleasure 
she can bring to man — no more. 

Calvin (As he rises from his seat and takes a step 
forward.) — Dupa, why are you so pessimistic about the 
beauty and blessedness of woman — of woman? I repeat, 
woman ! God bless their earthly as well as heavenly 
nativity. 

Edson (Enters.) — Good afternoon, Dupa and Calvin. 

Dupa and Calvin — Good afternoon, Friend Edson. 
( Edson takes his seat at his accustomed desk. ) 

Dupa — Mr. Edson, it seems you are tardy very often 
of late. You are due here at 9 A. M. and it is now 1.30 
P. M. This must stop. These too frequent auto trips 
with Miss Dorothy must cease, if you wish to retain your 
position. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 117 

(At the time Calvin looks up with stern, pene- 
trating look, but says nothing.) 

Edson — Why do you speak as you do, Dupa? Have I 
not been punctual and on time for the last three years, 
until the last few weeks? I knew there was little for me 
to do these days in the bank but what I could accomplish 
in half the time. 

Miss Dorothy (Enters.) — Good afternoon, gentlemen. 

All — Good afternoon, Miss Dorothy. 

Miss Dorothy — I wish I were a banker. I believe I 
will come often and let you teach me the banking busi- 
ness. 

Dupa — Miss Dorothy, you are blessed in other ways 
than this. Your prepossessing qualities will place you 
on a much higher station than any clerical position you 
could ever acquire. 

Miss Dorothy — Oh, Mr. Dupa, you flatter me. Do 
you know such an apotheosis as that will make me vain ? 
( Laughter. ) I am sure you are jesting, Mr. Dupa. 

Dupa — Indeed, I meant it as no jest. I am quite sin- 
cere. 

(Calvin and Edson give Dupa a penetrating stare 
at this moment.) 

Dupa (Hands Calvin a document.) — Carry this to the 
First National. 

(Calvin leaves the bank.) 

Dupa — I have nearly missed my lunch today. I will 
leave you and Miss Dorothy here while I am out to lunch. 
(He bows and leaves the bank.) 

Edson — Dorothy, I cannot understand his talk. How 
inconsistent of a married man talking to a young lady 
as he has to you. 

Dorothy — Oh, he was joking. He did not mean what 
he said. 

Edson — Indeed he did. I know him better than you 



118 POEMS AND PLAYS 

do, Dorothy. He has been acting and making what I 
call indirect overtures to you of late. And not only that, 
but he has made several poignant remarks to me since he 
sees we are devoted to each other. 

Dorothy — Will, you know I pay no attention to what 
he says. (Approaches Mr. Edson and places her hands 
in his, and they look into each other's eyes. ) You know 
you are my choice of all men. His idle talk, or any other 
man's idle loquacity, does not interest me in the least. 

Edson — But I know woman's failings. 

Dorothy — What are they? I did not know that wo- 
man had any failings. I thought men were the only 
ones who really had failings. 

Edson (Smiling.) — Dorothy, women care to be flat- 
tered. They pretend to be reluctant about receiving 
such imputations as being graceful or beautiful, but 
that is woman's most fragile point, and it is at the weak 
or vulnerable point the enemy always makes his attack. 

Dorothy — I believe you really do love me, Will. I 
can see you are just a little jealous, and that signifies 
love, I have been told. 

Edson — I am not jealous, for it does not become a 
gentleman to become jealous. But, Dorothy, I do love 
you. I worship you on too high a pedestal, I am afraid, 
for the saying is that when the idol is too high it is more 
apt to fall, and the distance is so much more that it 
often breaks into so many fragments that they never 
can be reunited. 

Dorothy — But you cannot love me too much. I will 
never fall and crumble to dust, for my foundation of 
love is of rock and not of sand. The floods may come, 
the winds may blow, the storms beat upon that house 
and it falls not, for it was founded on a rock. 

Edson — Scripture good. 

( They embrace one another fervently. ) 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 119 

Edson — I love you, Dorothy. You are now my affi- 
anced wife, and as soon as my salary is commensurate 
with your deserving mode of living we will marry. 

Dorothy — I am willing to live in the most frugal man- 
ner with you, Will. What are earthly possessions any- 
way? What is a palace if there is a polemic hostile 
feeling? 

Edson — You are right, Dorothy. 
(As they kiss the door opens.) 

MR. Calvin (Enters.) — Ah! My dear young people. 
(With a coarse, heavy voice.) Such as I just now wit- 
nessed reminds me of Paris and Helen of the Illiad. True 
thou art a Venus such as becomes thy grace. To thee, 
Apollo, I speak with equal meaning. Love is a tribute 
from heaven. Its halo encircles you. You are married 
by the Almighty. I will bless you. Though not as Isaac 
gave the great benison to Jacob and Esau, but will give 
it to you knowing who will receive. (Holds his hand 
above their heads. ) Thou art blessed ! Let the gates of 
hell prevail against thy sponsorial troth. Yet it shall 
stand. 

Edson — Yes, you have entered the bank at an oppor- 
tune moment. 

Dorothy — I could feel your blessing, Mr. Calvin, pen- 
etrate my very soul. I believe you are sincere in your 
exhortations of our heavenly betrothal, and we have 
listened with all sincerity. 

Mrs. Dupa (Enters.) — Well, well, Miss Dorothy! It 
must be you are being taught the banking business. 
Every time I come in of late you are here. 

Miss Dorothy — No, no, Mrs. Dupa, I will assure you 
I am not being taught the banking business. 

Mrs. Dupa — What then brings you here so often? 

Miss Dorothy — I can't see as that is your affair in 
the least. I am a free woman and can go where I wish. 



120 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Mrs. Dupa — Do you think you are acting in a circum- 
spect manner? Do you think you are acting within the 
laws of conventionality by so doing? 

Miss Dorothy — I certainly do. Is this not a public 
place? Am I not acquainted and shielded by these gen- 
tlemen ? 

Mr. Calvin — There is nothing wrong, I will assure 
you, Mrs. Dupa. Please say nothing more. 

Miss Dorothy — Good-bye. 

(To Mr. Calvin and Mr. Edson. Leaves the bank, 
as she gives Mrs. Dupa a penetrating glance. ) 

Mr. Calvin — When Mr. Dupa returns tell him I have 
gone, but to attend to the matter he left for me. 

(Walks out, and as he reaches the door turns and 
gives Mrs. Dupa a glance. ) 

Mrs. Dupa — Mr. Edson (Approaches near him), I can 
see through it all. You are in love with Miss Dorothy 
and she with you. This must stop. Will, you know I 
care for you. It is through me you have this position, 
and it will be through me you will lose it, if you do not 
cease paying attention to Miss Dorothy. 

Edson — Why are you so cruel to me? I know I care 
for Dorothy; that is no more than natural. She is of 
my age. You are married. I could not have you if I so 
desired. 

Mrs. Dupa — I have wealth and influence over my hus- 
band, as you know, and if I tell him to discharge you, 
he will. 

Edson (Knowing he must at least pretend to care 
something for her.) — I do care for you, Mrs. Dupa, more 
than I should. 

Mrs. Dupa — Oh, do you, Will? There is nothing I 
desire more in this world than your affection. 

Mr. Dupa (Enters.) — Where is Mr. Calvin? Has he 
gone to attend to what I told him today? 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 121 

Edson — Yes, sir. He has been gone some time. 

( Mr. Dupa takes his accustomed seat at the desk. 
Mrs. Dupa walks in a nonchalant way over near 
him, and leans on the cash counter between Mr. 
Dupa and the cash drawer. Enters into conversa- 
tion with him. 
Mrs. Dupa — Have you been to your lunch? 

(At this time, while he is looking down at his 
writing, she slips a pack of bills from the cash 
drawer. The pack contains |2,000. This pack has 
a wrapper around it with the amount and the name 
of the bank printed on it. She slips it into her 
pocket. ) 

(Calvin enters; his scrutinizing eye sees her slip 
these bills into her pocket. He says nothing, but 
walks toward her and looks straight into her eye; 
she colors up and steps to the right. ) 
Mrs. Dupa — Good-bye. 
(Leaves the bank.) 

(Mr. Calvin goes to his desk and rests his head 
on his hand and meditates. At this time it is near 
the closing hour.) 
Dorothy (Enters.) — Will, I have called, as I agreed 
to take a walk after banking hours with you. 

(As she enters she inadvertently lays her raincoat 
on a chair in the room near the entrance.) 

(Mrs. Dupa enters on tip toe, places f 1,000, half 

of the amount taken, in Dorothy's raincoat pocket. 

She leaves the wrapper on this f 1,000 to show that 

it was taken from this bank.) 

Mr. Dupa ( Looks at his cash, and commences to count 

for the day. He discovers that there is a package of 

$2,000 missing. ) — Who in Caesar's name has been at this 

money drawer? There is f 2,000 missing. 

(Enter the owner of the bank, Mr. Frederick 
Vane. ) 



122 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Mr. Dupa — You have come in an opportune moment. 
I have just discovered there has been some peculation 
going on here, f 2,000 of the bank's money is missing. 

Mr. Vane — Since when have you missed it, Dupa? 

Mr. Dupa — Within the last hour. 

(At this they all rise to their feet, except Calvin.) 

Dorothy and Mr. Edson (Simultaneously.) — How 
strange. 

Mr. Edson — Are you not mistaken, Mr. Dupa? 

Mr. Dupa — Indeed I am not. I know what cash I had 
on hand. 

Mr. Vane — Has anyone been here, near the cash to- 
day, except who are here now? 

Mr. Dupa — No, no one. 

Mr. Calvin (As he rises from his chair.) — I suggest, 
so as to clear all who are present, that each and all of 
us submit ourselves to a search. 

Mr. Dupa — I second the motion. 

Mr. Calvin (As he steps forward in heavy steps.) — It 
is not right to let the innocent be looked upon with any 
guilt; right wrongs no man; truth is mighty and will 
prevail. 

Mr. Vane — Very good idea. Are you all willing to be 
searched? 

(All answer in the affirmative.) 

Mr. Dupa — I will lock the front door. 

(They proceed to search. Mr. Vane searches the 
cashier, Mr. Calvin and Mr. Edson. 

Mr. Vane — I fail to find anything upon any of you 
three gentlemen. The next to be searched are the ladies, 
Mrs. Dupa and Miss Dorothy Bryant. 

Mr. Dupa — Mrs. Dupa, Miss Bryant will search you, 
and then you may proceed to search her. 

Mrs. Dupa — Very well. 

(Dorothy begins to search.) 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 123 

Dorothy — I fail to find anything on Mrs. Dupa. 
Mr. Vane — Mrs. Dupa, you can proceed with Miss 
Bryant. 

(Mrs. Dupa commences; she searches her clothing 
first and finds nothing. It should be noted that when 
the excitement first arose Miss Dorothy went and 
put on her coat that she had left in the chair near 
the door. Mrs. Dupa feels in the pockets and finds 
the $1,000 with the wrapper on it with the bank's 
name printed upon it. ) 

(Dorothy gives a loud screech as her eye surveys 
the bills, as they are drawn from her pocket, and at 
the same time swoons. Would have fallen if not 
for Mr. Edson catching her.) 
Mrs. Dupa — Well, we have discovered the guilty one. 
(With an imprecating slur.) 
(At this Mr. Edson drops his head.) 
Mr. Vane (Approaches and takes the money from the 
hand of Mrs. Dupa. ) — Miss Bryant, so you are the thief, 
are you? 

(Dorothy makes no answer, but looks down at 
the floor with tears in her eyes. ) 
Mr. Vane — Miss Bryant, answer me. Did you steal 
this money ? Answer me ! Answer me or I will call in 
the officer at once and have you under arrest. 

Mr. Dupa — Answer, Miss Bryant, whether or not you 
took the money? 

( Mr. Vane turns to go to call the police. ) 
Mr. Edson — No, I will answer for her. I am the thief. 
I took the money and placed it in her pocket, thinking 
she would know it was money I had given her to save. 

(Dorothy and Mr. Edson embrace each other af- 
fectionately. Mr. Calvin throws down on the desk 
with a slam a book he has been holding. ) 
{CURTAIN.) 



124 POEMS AND PLAYS 

ACT II. 
Scene 2 — The Drawing Boom of Mr. Vane. 

(As the curtain rises there is seated, talking, Mr. 
Vane and Mr. Dupa. ) 

Mr. Vane — Dupa, I am simply nonplussed. I have 
been awake the entire night in silent meditation over 
the affair of yesterday. I cannot believe that Mr. Edson 
took that money. 

Mr. Dupa — Why are you incredulous as to the man's 
own confession? I myself am firm in the belief he was 
the guilty party. Has he not been hiring automobiles 
of late and taking his affianced wife, Dorothy, out for 
spins and even lost much time at the bank? 

Mr. Vane — Yes, on the face of it, Mr. Dupa, it looks 
plausible; but I have always had impressions, and I 
have one in this case, and that is that he has made that 
confession to shield the girl. Yet I can't believe even 
she took the money. 

Miss Dorothy (Enters.) — Mr. Vane, can I speak with 
you a moment? 

Mr. Vane — Yes, indeed; be seated. Do you care if 
Mr. Dupa is present? 

Miss Dorothy — Yes, I do ; I would prefer being alone 
with you. 

(Mr. Dupa leaves the room.) 

Mr. Vane — Well, how can I serve you, Miss Dorothy? 

Miss Dorothy ( In crying mood, answers in low tone. ) 
— Mr. Vane, you can relieve my aching heart to a great 
extent. Mr. Edson did not take one penny from your 
bank. 

MR. Vane — Well, who did, if not Mr. Edson? 

Miss Dorothy — That at present is a mystery, but it 
was not Mr. Edson. 

Mr. Vane — Did you take it, then, as it was found in 
your possession? 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 125 

Miss Dorothy — No, indeed, I did not. It was a con- 
spiracy against me by some jealous party, who fre- 
quents the bank. Who it is, I cannot say, but God is 
good to the innocent. Time will tell. 

Mr. Vane — What do you desire of me? What can I 
do to relieve your sufferings? 

Miss Dorothy — You can do much. I want you to go 
on Mr. Edson's bail bond. I have it here with me. Do 
not refuse me this request, as he is innocent. I pray 
you will not refuse me, Mr. Vane. 

(Mr. Vane opens the bond and looks at it a min- 
ute, and then takes his fountain pen out of his 
pocket and signs, handing it back to Miss Dorothy. ) 

Miss Dorothy — God bless you, Mr. Vane. You will 
get your guerdon for this. 
( Leaves the room. ) 

Mr. Vane (Pacing up and down, murmuring beneath 
his breath. ) — I believe they are both innocent. I am im- 
pressed that neither he nor she are the guilty party. I 
will keep quiet and watch. 

Mrs. Dupa ( Enters. ) — Good evening, Mr. Vane. 

Mr. Vane — Good evening, Mrs. Dupa. Be seated. 

Mrs. Dupa — How inconsistent of Mr. Edson to make 
the confession he did last evening, to shield that little 
thief, Miss Dorothy. 

Mr. Vane — Stop ! Stop ! Stop right where you are. I 
do not think either of them are thieves, or that either of 
them took the money. 

Mrs. Dupa — Oh, you don't? 

Mr. Vane — No, I do not, 

Mrs. Dupa — Well, the money was found in her pos- 
session, was it not? 

Mr. Vane — Yes, but what of that? It could have been 
placed there by some one Avho was jealous or cared to 
cause the downfall of this young lady. And I for one 



126 POEMS AND PLAYS 

am not satisfied. I am going to wait for more tangible 
evidence than what we have at present. 
( Enter Dorothy and Mr. Edson. ) 

Mr. Edson — Good evening, Mr. Vane. 

Mrs. Dupa — Well, well! How did you get out? I 
thought you were locked up. 

Mr. Edson — I was, but my friends, Mr. Vane and Dor- 
othy, got me out. 

Mrs. Dupa — I am so glad you are free again, Mr. Ed- 
son. If Mr. Vane had not gone on your bail bond, I 
would have done so myself. 

Mr. Edson — I thank you, Mrs. Dupa, but it will not be 
necessary now. 

Mr. Vane — Let me take your hand, Edson, I believe 
you are an innocent man, and I am going to prove to you 
that I do by letting you retain your position as second 
cashier of my bank. Also I will withdraw all charges 
and will not prosecute you, for I do not believe you a 
guilty man. 

Mr. Edson (Looks down with emotion and takes Mr. 
Vane's hand.) — Mr. Vane, you are a gentleman. Per- 
haps this matter will all right itself in time, and then 
I will explain why I did as I have. 

Miss Dorothy and Mr. Edson (Leaving the stage.) — 
Good night. 

Mr. Edson (As Calvin enters.) — Good evening, Cal- 
vin. Sit down. I am glad you called. Miss Dorothy 
and Mr. Edson have just left. I have bailed him out. 

Mr. Calvin (As he takes his hand.) — Good for you. 

Mrs. Dupa — I will leave you gentlemen to yourselves. 
(Walks off the stage.) 

Mr. Calvin — You have done what I myself would have 
done. He as Avell as she is innocent. I have noticed 
things of late myself, but have said nothing, but I will 
later. I will assure you that neither of them are the 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 127 

perpetrators of this crime. "Murder will out/' and so 
will this. Give it time. 

Mr. Vane — I am of the same belief. I told Mr. Edson 
to resume his labors at the bank tomorrow morning. 

Mr. Calvin — Good night, Mr. Vane. ( Exits. ) 

Mr. Edson (Enters.) — I return to reassure you I ap- 
preciate your unwavering fealty. 

Mrs. Dupa (Enters.) — I wish to speak to Mr. Edson 
a moment. Will you leave me alone with him a moment, 
Mr. Vane? 

Mr. Vane — With pleasure. 
(Leaves the stage.) 

Mr. Edson (Aside.) — I know what I will do to clear 
myself, as well as Dorothy. I will let on I love or care 
for Mrs. Dupa, if she makes overtures to me again, so 
that I may get her to confess what she knows of this 
money. 

Mrs. Dupa (Takes both of Mr. Edson's hands in hers.) 
— Mr. Edson, I am so sorry this has had to occur. I 
know you are innocent of this offence, and I am here to 
help you. I admire you so much, and have from the first 
time we met. I do not want you to go with Miss Dor- 
othy any longer. I want you to consign yourself to my 
keeping. You live at my home and we will not let the 
world be any the wiser. 

Mr. Edson — Yes, dear, I have always cared for you, 
but was too conscientious to tell you, knowing you were 
married. But I cannot keep it from you any longer. 

Mr. Edson (Continues aside.) — Yes, I care a lot for 
her ! The one I believe is the cause of my downfall, but 
I will pretend to care for her and to cease caring for 
Dorothy, which will be hard for me, but I must clear 
myself, as well as her. ( Kisses Mrs. Dupa. ) 

(Mr. Dupa enters to the door, looks in and sees 
this act of Mr. Edson's, and hears his declaration of 



128 POEMS AND PLAYS 

love. He enters no further, but leaves the room en- 
tirely without their knowing he had heard and seen 
them. ) 

MR. Vane (Enters.) — Well, have you had your talk 
out? 

Mr. Edson — Oh, yes. We thank you for leaving us by 
ourselves a moment. We are going now. Good night. 

Mr. Vane — Good night. 

(They leave the stage together.) 

Mr. Dupa (Enters.) — I have called here tonight to see 
Miss Dorothy. She said she would be here at this time. 
I have some questions to ask her. I wish to be alone 
when she comes. 

Miss Dorothy (Enters.) — Here you are waiting for 
me. I am a little late, Mr. Dupa. 

Mr. Dupa — Yes, better late than never. 

Mr. Vane — I will leave you to yourselves for a mo- 
ment. 

Mr. Dupa — Dorothy, can you, as sweet and bright as 
you are, care for that scoundrel Edson? 

Miss Dorothy — Hush ! What are you saying? What 
do you mean? Scoundrel? Who is a scoundrel? I will 
not listen to such talk from you or anyone, for Mr. Ed- 
son is a gentleman. 

Mr. Dupa — A moment, just a moment. Perhaps I can 
explain. 

Dorothy — Yes, you will have to explain. 

Mr. Dupa — If your eyes could have witnessed what 
mine have this night, you would drop him like a coal of 
fire. 

Miss Dorothy — Witness? What have you witnessed 
in Mr. Edson that was at all reprehensible. Pray tell 
me. 

Mr. Dupa — I have this very night from that door seen 
him kiss my wife and tell her he cared for her. 



B Y E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 129 

Miss Dorothy — I don't believe you. You have an ob- 
ject in telling me this. I don't believe you. 

MR. Dupa — I swear it to be the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, so help me God. 

Miss Dorothy — Can I believe you or not? My God! 
Can it be true? Has Mr. Edson been deceiving me this 
way? Can it be he who has done as you say? If he has, 
he must have taken the money, as he said, and placed 
it in my pocket. (At this Dorothy is quiet; she hangs 
her head and weeps for a moment. ) No, I don't believe 
it. I can't believe what you have said. Mr. Dupa, you 
make my heart more sad. It was heavy when I came, but 
now it is breaking. 

Mr. Dupa — Dorothy, I assure you I am telling you 
the truth. I love you. I have always cared for you. I 
will protect you. 

(He approaches her to place his arms about her.) 

Dorothy — Don't touch me. Keep your distance. I 
hate you. You are a villain. Now I know you have ut- 
tered a falsehood. There is no truth in what you have 
told me. You told me this so I would drop Mr. Edson 
and care for you. I hate 

Mr. Vane (Enters.) — What are you both in such a 
heated argument about? 

Mr. Dupa ( Smiles superciliously. ) — Oh, we were only 
discussing the doings in the bank yesterday. (To Miss 
Dorothy. ) Miss Dorothy, I will convince you later that 
I am telling you the truth about Mr. Edson's infidelity. 

Miss Dorothy — I will have to see it with my own eyes 
before I would believe it. 

Mr. Dupa — Very well ; you will have a chance to see 
it if you wait in the vestibule and look through the blinds 
this very evening. 

Miss Dorothy — I will do as you say, not that I be- 
lieve it, but I will to show you that you are mistaken. I 



130 POEMS AND PLAYS 

will wait outside until they are here, then I will ap- 
proach the vestibule. (Exit.) . . ■ . _- < - */ 

Mrs. Dupa (Enters.) — Good evening. 
Mr. Edson ( Enters. ) — Good evening, all of you. 
Mrs. Dupa — Why, we nearly came together. How 
strange ! 

Mr. Edson — Yes, a coincidence. 

Mr. Vane — You will have to excuse Mr. Dupa and my- 
self for a few minutes. We are going out in the evening 
air for a few moments ; we have matters to talk over. 
(They exit.) 
Mrs. Dupa (At once embraces Mr. Edson and caresses 
him.) — You don't care for Miss Dorothy, do you? 

(Miss Dorothy enters so she can see from the 
vestibule what is going on. 
Mr. Edson — I cared for Dorothy at one time, but now 

— but now 

Mrs. Dupa — Well, but now What is it? 

Mr. Edson — You are my choice above all women. 

(Caresses her.) 
Mrs. Dupa — God bless you. I am sure your love is 
reciprocated. Why not walk out, it is so close in here. 
( As they walk from the stage Dorothy retreats be- 
hind the vestibule door until they have gone.) 
( Dorothy enters, leans on table and sobs. ) 
Mr. Dupa (Enters.) — You here, Miss Dorothy? What 
is the matter? What are you crying about? Why are 
you so sad? What has come over you? 

Miss Dorothy — It is true what you said of Mr. Edson 
and your wife. It is true, all too true. He has been 
deceiving me all along. I apologize for remonstrating 
as I did when you told me of this at first. 

Mr. Dupa — Your apology is most benigruantly ac- 
cepted. I assure you, Miss Dorothy, I love you. I will 
protect you. Mr. Edson is not worthy of you. I will 
shield vou from all harm. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 131 

(Opens his arms to her.) 
• ( Mr. Edson enters the vestibule door at this time 
and stands there and listens for a moment. Miss 
Dorothy stands in a meditating mood for a while, 
and speaks aside in a low tone. ) 
Miss Dorothy — I will pretend to care for Mr. Dupa, 
to get even with Mr. Edson for deceiving me. 

(Turns and falls into Mr. Dupa's arms, as he 
caresses her.) 
Mr. Edson (Enters.) — My God! Can I believe my 
own eyes? Dorothy! Dorothy! What in God's name 
does it mean ? What can it mean ? What can it mean ? 
( Fills into a nearby settee. ) 
(CURTAIN.) 

ACT III. 

Scene 3 — In Mr. Vane's Bank. 

(As the curtain rises Mr. Calvin is sitting at his 
desk. ) 

Miss Mary Occonal (Enters.) — How are you today, 
Mr. Calvin? 

Mr. Calvin — Well, Miss Mary, come in and sit down. 
You are just the one I want to see. 

Miss Occonal — Mr. Calvin, you are such a good-look- 
ing man I will sit down, and I will sit near you. You 
are a wonderful man, Mr. Calvin. Don't you know I 
could care for vou, Mr. Calvin? 

Mr. Calvin (Laughs.) — Well, if you could care for 
me I want you to do me a favor. 

Miss Occonal — I will do anything for you, Mr. Cal- 
vin. What is it? 

Mr. Calvin — I want you to look through Mrs. Dupa's 
things, at your first opportunity, and see if you can find 
$1,000 in bills. You are the housemaid in their home, 



132 POEMS AND PLAYS 

and you are in a position to find the money, and when 
you do bring it to me. 

Miss Occonal — Ah! Do you think Mrs. Dupa took 
the money from the bank? 

Mr. Calvin — Do not ask me at this time. Just do as 
I say and I will reward you. 

Miss Occonal (Gives her hand to Mr. Calvin.) — I 
promise I will do all I can to find it to please you, Mr. 
Calvin. (Exit.) 

Miss Dorothy (Enters.) — Mr. Calvin, I believe you 
a friend of mine, at least I am so impressed. I am going 
to counsel with you. 

Mr. Calvin — Sit right down. I am at your service, 
Miss Dorothy. 

Miss Dorothy — Mr. Calvin, I have made a great mis- 
take. I love Mr. Edson, but I have found he is untrue 
to me, and to make him jealous I have allowed Mr. Dupa 
to kiss me on one occasion, and Mr. Edson chanced to 
see us. I only did it to make him jealous. I care noth- 
ing for Mr. Dupa, but I love Mr. Edson. What can I do 
now? What can I do? 

Mr. Calvin — Cease the crying, my dear girl. Mr. Ed- 
son loves you still. He has an object in doing as he does. 
"True love never runs smooth." Cease your sorrow. I 
will help you in a silent way. The present will soon be 
the past, the future will then be the present. Your 
health is rubicund, your skies are refulgent, your days 
will be resolute. What does it matter now that Csesar 
was assassinated by Brutus or that Mark Antony loved 
Cleopatra? What does it matter now that Xerxes 
crossed the Hellespont or Nebuchadnezzar thundered at 
the gates of Jerusalem? What does it matter now that 
Charles the First of England laid aside the crown for 
tke guillotine to let Cromwell govern the Common- 
wealth? Fashion must change. Days bring new 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 133 

thoughts, new vicissitudes and new felicities. Wait, just 
live and wait. Fortune comes to those who wait. Miss 
Dorothy, how plain the past mistakes are to us all. I 
have a story pertaining to my own life. I would like to 
tell it to you. 

Miss Dorothy — Proceed. I would love to hear it, Mr. 
Calvin. 

Mr. Calvin — When I had attained the age of 21 I was 
keeping company with a young lady of extraordinary 
attainments. We cared a great deal for one another. At 
a select ball one evening in August she had danced nu- 
merous sets with a cousin of hers and seemed to pay 
more attention to him than cousins naturally would. 
As soon as I discovered this, to make her jealous I be- 
gan to make a great deal over another young lady that 
was also at the ball. This caused us to separate for the 
evening. Our courtship was ephemeral from this time 
on. We had a quarrel that ended in my saying, "I will 
leave vou forever." This I did with great reluctance. 
And I shall ever know that she let me go with regret. 
However, I was determined to spite, and by so doing I 
was making myself the profligate. I journeyed to the 
East Indies and remained there for a half decade. My 
choler had calmed down by this time, and I decided to 
migrate West again. I could not withstand the persua- 
sions of Eros longer. Upon my arrival home the perni- 
cious news that awaited me stirs me with emotion still. 
She is dead. Those three words immured my soul into 
its present sequestered cell. Love is woven into such 
fragile fabric, it can be torn by little effort or it may be 
as easily mended. 

Miss Dorothy — I thank you, Mr. Calvin. I feel bet- 
ter at once. 

Mr. Vane (Enters.) — Calvin, I have a letter I wish 
to show you. 



134 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Mr. Calvin quickly looks it over. It is a letter 
from Mrs. Dupa to Mr. Edson. She has confessed 
in this note that she placed the $1,000 in Miss Dor- 
othy's pocket. ) 
Mr. Calvin (After reading.) — Just as I thought. 
Though say nothing at present. All will be cleared up 
later. 

( Mr. Vane leaves the stage. ) 
Mr. Edson ( Enters. ) — Good morning. 
Mr. Calvin — You look as though you had been drawn 
through a knothole, Edson. 

Mr. Edson — That is not all. I feel like it, too. 

( Miss Dorothy hangs her head. Mr. Calvin walks 
to Edson.) 
Mr. Calvin — Brace up, Edson. Keep up your nerve. 
(Mr. Edson walks to Miss Dorothy and stands in 
front of her a moment.) 
Mr. Edson — Dorothy! Dorothy! 
(Dorothy does not answer.) 
Edson — Dorothy, why are you reluctant about answer- 
ing me? 

Miss Dorothy — Because of your pernicious actions. 
Mr. Edson ( Taking her hand. ) — Dorothy, forgive me. 
I love you ; you don't understand. 

( Mrs. Dupa is in the vestibule and hears this. ) 
Mrs. Dupa (Enters.) — Mr. Edson, what do you mean? 
Oh, I saw you and heard what you said. You are a great 
one, you are. 

Mr. Calvin — What is that to you, Mrs. Dupa? Why 

should you interfere? By what right do you so speak? 

(Enter Mr. Dupa.) 

Mr. Edson — Yes, bv what right, I would like to know? 

I love you, Dorothy. I love you. Why do you care for 

this married man? Man ! He is no man. A man would 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 135 

not be doing as he has. How can you care for him? I 
saw you when you accepted his overtures of love. 

Miss Dorothy — And I saw you when you did the same 
to her, this vile married woman. 

(Mr. Dupa pulls his coat off and starts to whip 
Edson, as Calvin and Dorothy hold him. ) 

Mr. Dupa — You thief ! You are not only a thief, but 
you have been making love to my wife. I will fix you 
tomorrow. You did not only take the $2,000, but your 
accounts are wrong in the bank here. Tomorrow I will 
prove not only to Dorothy, but to the world what you 
are. 

Miss Dorothy — You lie! Mr. Edson is not a thief. 
You lie! 

Mr. Dupa — We will see later. 

Mr. Calvin — Yes, we will see who is the thief later. 

(CURTAIN.) 



ACT IV. 
Scene 4 — The Bank. 

(As the curtain rises Mr. Calvin and Miss Mary 
Occonal are seated together. ) 

Miss Occonal — Mr. Calvin, I have such a funny feel- 
ing in my heart of late. (Feels on the right and then 
on the left side of her chest, and back to the right for 
her heart.) I believe I am in love. 

Mr. Calvin — In love? In love with what or who? 

Miss Occonal — Oh, Mr. Calvin, can't you tell? 
What is love, Mr. Calvin? 

Mr. Calvin — What is love, did you say? Love is a 
social heaven. It prevails in omnipotence. Its great 
arcanum can be entered at will. The Jew, Gentile, the 
peer, the peasant alike are shaded by its canopy. It 
softens the criminal's heart. It mitigates sorrow. It 

0* 



136 POEMS AND PLAYS 

causes the parent to slave for posterity. It opens the 
soul to eternal bliss. It canonizes the saint. It cleanses 
the sullied. It brought our Saviour to redeem our souls 
with love and give us life everlasting. Such is love. 
Miss Occonal — Oh, how soul inspearing ! 
Mr. Calvin — Mary, have you been able to find the 
$1,000 in Mrs. Dupa's effects as yet? 

Miss Occonal — Indeed I have, and here it is. 
(Hands it to him.) 

( Mr. Dupa enters to assume his duties, but speaks 
to no one. ) 
Mr. Vane (Enters with a few slips of papers in his 
hand.) — Dupa, is this the amount that Mr. Edson has 
embezzled? Where are the books? Let me see the ac- 
counts. 

(Looks over them.) 
Mr. Edson (Hears this as he enters.) — What in God's 
name are you talking about? Embezzling! Me embez- 
zling? 

Mr. Dupa — Here it is. Look with your own eyes. 

( Miss Dorothy enters, hears this, and stands duin- 
founded. ) 

(Mr. Vane and Mr. Edson are looking over the 
book. ) 
Mr. Vane — I am beginning to believe. 

(Shakes his head.) 
Mr. Dupa (Walks to Miss Dorothy and whispers.) — 
Now, do you care for him or me? 
( Enter Mrs. Dupa. ) 
Mr. Dupa (To Mrs. Dupa.) — Call in the officer and 
take Mr. Edson and place him under arrest. 

Mr. Calvin (Rising from his chair.) — Wait, woman, 
wait! In God's name wait. If there is an officer to be 
called, I will call him. You, Mrs. Dupa, are the thief. 
You took the money, $2,000 from the drawer. I saw 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 137 

you when you did it. You placed f 1,000 in Miss Dor- 
othy's pocket, because you were jealous of her, and the 
other f 1,000 you hid in your home and Miss Occonal 
found it in your dresser and brought it to me. Here it 
is, Mr. Vane. 

Mr. Edson — Yes, and all I ever have pretended to care 
for you was an object — I wanted to find out if you were 
not the guilty one, which you have confessed to me in a 
note you wrote me. That is in Mr. Vane's hands. 
( Mr. Vane tenders the note. ) 

Mr. Dupa — Well, how about these books? 

Mr. Calvin ( To Dupa. ) — You have erased the figures 
and rewritten. I have the copy sheets that I pressed 
each day, so as to retain the exact copy of Mr. Edson's 
figures. Here they are. (Mr. Calvin hands them to Mr. 
Vane. ) You and your wife are the guilty ones. 

Miss Dorothy (To Edson.) — Then you do love me! 
You were only pretending to care for Mrs. Dupa for this 
purpose. And all I cared for that scoundrel was be- 
cause I was jealous of you and tried to make you jeal- 
ous. I love you. 

( They embrace each other with a happy cry. ) 

Mr. Vane — Mr. Edson, from this on you are first 
cashier of my bank, and Mr. Calvin, our eccentric philos- 
opher, is raised to second cashier. You two may go, and 
never enter this threshold again ! 

(Dorothy and Mr. Edson embrace Mr. Calvin.) 

{CURTAIN.) 



138 POEMS AND PLAYS 



BABY'S HEAVEN 

Close your eyes, my little sonny, 
Sleepy — chubby — little bunny, 
Made of honey. 

Willow cradle, hear it creaking, 
Don't fool Mama while you're sleeping, 
By your peeping. 

Little limbs, so tired of playing, 
Let them rest while you are laying, 
And I am praying. 

Praying may the Lord refresh you, 
And to slumberland express you, 
While I bless you. 

Sleep away that painful wreathing, 
Mother's love upon you breathing, 
While you're teething. 

Tender, softly, now you're going, 
Into Dreamland, gently flowing, 
And never knowing. 



l &" 



That you're back from where deriven, 
A sleepy realm with angels living, 
My baby's heaven. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 139 



A WHITE SLAVE 

ACT I. 

Scene — Her Father's Home. 
Time, Present. Place, New York City. 

CAST. 

Helen Bradley. 

Bill Bradley, Father of Helen. 

John Kummel. 

Henry Hume. 

Martha Sins, Colored Girl. 

(Curtain rises.) 

( There is sitting in the drawing room of the Brad- 
ley home Miss Helen and her admirer, Mr. Henry 
Hume. ) 
Mr. Hume — Helen, dear, you do not know what a 
mother's tender love and affection is, do you, Helen? 

Helen — No, Henry, mother died when I was but a 
child and I have been under the domineering rule of my 
ugly drunken father ever since. I feel as though I had 
nothing to live for — or that no one in this whole world 
cares for me. 

Mr. Hume — Oh, Helen, don't say that, for such is not 
true. I love you, and would care for you if you were 
older so you could leave home; but you are not quite 
eighteen years old yet. 

Helen — I will be eighteen in a few days. Oh, but I 
would like to leave home. My father is not a father to 
me ; he is what the world calls an unnatural father, Mr. 
Hume. 



140 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Mr. Hume — Well, dear, I am only getting |16.00 a 
week now, but I will get a raise soon, and if worse conies 
to worst I will marry you and take you away. 

Bill Bradley ( father of girl, enters. ) — What are you 
doing in here? Get out of here before I throw you out, 
you young ten-dollar-a-week counter jumper. 

Helen — Oh, father, do not treat Mr. Hume in such a 
disrespectful manner. Mr. Hume is a nice little gen- 
tleman. 

Bill Bradley — Little gentleman! Shut up, you little 
snip ! What are you talking about? What do you know 
about gentlemen ? 
Helen — Oh, father ! 

Bill Bradley — Shut up, I say, or I will slap you! 
Shut ! Now, you git ! Get out of here in a hurry. 

( Mr. Hume leaves the room, shakes his fists at the 
old man, and the old man chases him away.) 
Bill Bradley — Helen ! Helen ! Helen ! 

( Louder each time he speaks. Helen is lying with 
her head on the table crying.) 
Helen— Well? 

Bill Bradley — Never let me see that snip of a boy 
about here again. Helen, I have got a man for you — a 
man of my choice. You will meet him shortly. You 
will have a man with money — a man who can support 
you. Now go to your room and prepare for him. 

Helen — I do not want a man of your choice. When 
I marry I will choose for myself. 

Bill Bradley — Don't talk to me that w r ay. Do not 

say you will not do this or that. You are going to do as 

I say. Go to your room and fix up in your best. Go ! Go ! 

(Helen leaves the stage crying.) 

(John Rummel enters. He has a large cigar in 

his mouth with a large western hat on one side of 

his head.) 



BY E. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 141 

John Eummel — Good evening, Bill. 

Bill Bradley — Good evening, John. Well, you have 
arrived as you said. 

John Rummel — We will get to business at once. 

Bill Bradley — John, ever since you were in the West 
and made your big hit in gold mining, you are all busi- 
ness. 

John Rummel — You bet! 1 do business, then pull 
my freight. Well, about your daughter. I told you I 
would give you f 10,000 if you would give her to me in 
marriage. Do you mean it? 

Bill Bradley — I always mean what I say. 

John Rummel — Bring her dow T n ; let me look her over. 

Bill Bradley — Helen! Helen! Helen, come down 
here; come at once. 

(Helen slowly appears. Her eyes are red and 
swollen, as she walks in.) 

Helen — What do you want of me? 

Bill Bradley — Helen, this is Mr. John Rummel, the 
man I have been telling you of. 

John Rummel (Stands up and puffs his cigar and 
walks around her and looks at her from head to foot, 
as though he were buying a horse. ) — Pretty good-looking 
little kid. 

(As he goes to touch her hair she jerks away 
from him.) 

John Rummel — Shy, ain't you? Well, you will get 
out of that. Well, Bill, I guess I will take her. 

Bill Bradley — You may go to your room now. 

( Helen goes off the stage. At this Mr. John Rum- 
mel gives Bill Bradley f 10,000.) 

John Rummel — I will be back at 8.30 o'clock for her. 
It is now 5.30. We will be married at once. 

Bill Bradley — As you say. 
(John Rummel exits.) 



142 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Mr. Hume is looking through the window and 
can see and hear everything.) 
{CURTAIN.) 



ACT II. 

Scene — Outside of the House and Yard. 
(Curtain rises.) 

Helen (Praying.) — Dear Lord, I ask you and the 
Blessed Virgin Mary to deliver me from this evil and 
sinful home. Jesus, I am an orphan; my father is not 
a father. Dear Lord, answer my prayers. 

(Mr. Hume enters; throws pebbles against the 
window of Helen's bedroom. She comes to the win- 
dow.) 

Helen — Good evening, Henry. I was praying that I 
could see you a moment. 

Henry Hume — I know it all, dear. I was at the win- 
dow listening. I heard it all. 

Helen — He has given papa f 10,000 for my hand in 
marriage, and papa offers me $5,000 if I will marry him 
without any reluctance. 

Henry Hume — I have it ! I have it ! You wait right 
where you are, dear. My cousin is a wig-maker for the- 
atrical people downtown. I saw that John Rummel and 
I can imitate him to a T as to his voice, and I will imper- 
sonate him. 

Helen — Papa is sitting at the door all the time, so no 
one can enter but that miserable wretch John Rummel. 

Henry Hume — I do not care for him. He will think I 
am John Rummel. Just you wait here where you are, 
but get all ready and we will walk out, and as we do we 
will get the $5,000, and we will go far away and be mar- 
ried. Good night, dear. ( Exits. ) 



BY E. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 143 

Bill Bradley ( Takes a seat at the front door in hall 
and calls. ) — Helen ! Helen ! Come down here ! 

Helen (Enters.) — What do you want of me, papa? 
Bill Bradley — You are going to be married to John 
Rummel at 8.30 this evening, and here is half of the 
amount I promised you to wed him. Take it and be 
careful of it. 

Helen ( Takes the money, turns and goes upstairs. ) — 
Thank you. 

Mr. Hume (Enters, with wig, disguised as John Rum- 
mel.) — Good evening, Mr. Bill Bradley. I am a little 
premature, but I am going for a short walk with Helen 
before we are married. 

Bill Bradley — Go on in and do as you like. She is 
yours now. 

(Mr. Hume in his disguise steps in and Helen 
meets him ; they pass out and away. Mr. Hume gets 
Helen safely in an automobile nearby, and then goes 
back and re-enters the house. Mr. Bradley is not at 
the door at this time, as he thinks his daughter is 
safe now in John RummePs hands. So it is easy for 
Mr. Hume with his disguise to get in. He meets the 
colored girl at the hall door.) 
Mr. Hume — Martha, here is $20. I want you to do 
something for me. (Takes her up to the bedroom that 
was once occupied by Helen and tells her everything.) 
Martha, you know how mean Helen's father is to her. 
I am disguised as the one he supposes she is to marry to- 
night. Here, I want you to sit here with your back 
turned until Mr. John Rummel comes in. I will place 
Miss Helen's coat and hat and veil on you, so from the 
back you will look like Helen. There! There you are! 
Here is $10 more. You sit right there. Will you, Mar- 
tha? 

Martha — Indeed, I will, Mr. Man. 



144 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(As Mr. Hume leaves, he passes the hall door, and 
Bill Bradley is sitting there. ) 
Bill Bradley — I thought, John, you and Helen went 
out of here a few minutes ago for a walk. 

Henry Hume — We did, but Helen said she must 
get her things packed, so I brought her back. I will call 
in a few moments and we will go to the preacher and be 
married. 

(Exit.) 
Bill Bradley — You will be back then in a few mo- 
ments for her? 

Mr. Hume (In disguise.) — Yes, in a few moments. 
(He goes to the auto and sits there with Helen, 
waiting for John Kummel to come for Helen. They 
are at a safe distance in an auto, so they can see 
when Mr. Kummel comes.) 

(The scenery is transparent to the side of the 
house, where the bedroom is. Rumrnel and Bradley 
are seen walking up to the room where they think 
Helen is, but the colored woman servant is instead. 
John Rummel (the real John Rummel) enters.) 
John Rummel — Good evening, Bill. 
Bill Bradley — Good evening, John. 
John Rummel — Well, I have come for her. 
Bill Bradley — Well, I know it; you have been here 
two or three times for her this evening. 

John Rummel — Two or three times I have been here 
this evening! You are crazy! I have not been here 
since we made the bargain ! 

( He is dressed like a rough miner from the West. ) 
Bill Bradley — I must have been seeing things, then. 
Say, what are you giving me? 

John Rummel — What you giving me? Say, you can 
beat me. Come on ! Is she upstairs? 

(They go upstairs slowly together. They spy the 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 145 

colored woman there with Helen's coat on, and with 
her hat and veil on, as though waiting ready to go 
with him when he arrives. They enter the room.) 
Bill Bradley — Helen! Helen! Helen. 

( No answer. They both move up to her, and Bill 
Bradley places his hand on her shoulder and pulls 
her around, and they at once see it is the colored 
woman. ) 
Bill Bradley — What does this mean? 
John Bummel — Yes, what does it mean? You trying 
to throw her off on me ! This damn nigger ! 

Bill Bradley (Looks vacant and nonplussed.) — You 
nigger, what are you doing here? 

Martha (The maid.) — Who do you want? Who are 
you looking for, you white trash? If you are looking 
for Helen, she has just run away with Mr. Hume. There 
they are! 

(Points to them on a hill above in an auto.) 
(Bill Bradley and John Rummel look and see 
them. As Mr. Hume sees they are viewing them, he 
removes his wig and reveals his real identity, and 
starts the auto going. They wave their hands. ) 
Mr. Hume and Helen — Ta, ta! Ta, ta! 
Bill Bradley (Looks up at John Rummel and 
scratches his head. ) — Hell ! 

John Rummel — Yes, you darn fraud, you did this on 
purpose — damn you ! 

(Knocks Bill Bradley down and turns to Martha. ) 

As for you, you nigger 

Martha — And for you! 

(She knocks him down.) 

(CURTAIN.) 



146 POEMS AND PLAYS 

A FRIEND 

A friend is a word — perused, often used. 

Do we think of the load that it carries? 
There's birth to a friend, but never an end ! 

It's the part that the spade never buries. 

Friend ! my dear Friend ! How well does it blend 
With "dear," the wealth of its being! 

For when it is real, thieves can not steal ; 
Its links never wear to the freeing. 

We may have a brother, w r e may have a mother, 
When in need for aid we must send ; 

But they're deaf to our query, and away in a hurry, 
Though never the case with a friend. 

You may see in all history the proof of the mystery, 

For truth we can't borrow or lend ; 
You may cover it clever, but its life is forever — 

And that is the age of a friend ! 

The boy in the streeet with soiled face and feet, 
And the man who has millions to spend. 

His riches may varnish and cover the tarnish, 
Though the boy 'neath the dirt is a friend. 

In the former there's hope, with water and soap, 
Though his dress don't beguile or pretend. 

He's a friend with the dirt that's void of all hurt, 
While the latter is seldom a friend. 

Each friend we may add we'll come to be glad, 
As on through this life we must wend, 

For what is more sweet after years when we meet 
Than the glad welcome face of a friend ! 



BY E. L. G E A P I N, M. D. 147 

AGGRESSION WON 

A Sketch in One Act. 

Time — Present. 

Place — New York City. 

CAST. 
Richard Bryant. 
Elnore Adams. 

( Curtain rises. ) 

(Richard is sitting by a table in his living room, 
which is one of the rooms to his suite in an apart- 
ment house. ) 
Richard ( Soliloquizing. ) — I have tried to win Elnore 
by placid and pleasing overtures, by blandishments and 
sincere flattery, by telling her of her wit and transcend- 
ent beauty. I have called her by my self-coined appella- 
tion, Elnore, the Venus of Gotham. I have often spoken 
to her of her grace and physical charms that are so 
strikingly in evidence. I have told her of her bearings, 
physically splendid, morally perfect and intellectually 
beautiful. I have sought and sued and solicited in per- 
son to have her accompany me on a rural automobile ride 
for the afternoon, but this she would decline. Many 
times I have asked her to attend the opera at the Metro- 
politan, and of the many but thrice did she accept. Yet 
I was thankful for small favors from one so reticent and 
endowed with so much apparent humility. While at the 
opera she would sit unmoved and seemingly uninterested 
through the performance, without volunteering to utter 
one word, only answering my questions as I may have 
impromptually put them to her. Even then she would 
answer in as few words as she could employ, to express 



148 POEMS AND PLAYS 

the meaning she desired to convey to me in her laconic 
dialogue. I would invite her to go to the cafes for an 
evening's repast. Usually she would peremptorily re- 
fuse to go. After I had taken her a few times she even 
became more distant and cold in her attitude towards 
me. She even insisted on taking her aunt with us as a 
chaperon. Elnore, Elnore ! She knows I love her — she 
must ! She could see it in my every action and in every 
word I utter. Well, perhaps it's her cold coquetry and 
seeming indifference in reciprocating even one scintilla 
of my affection, and accompanying me to the opera with 
reluctance, that has caused my love for her to assume 
such proportions and abound with such impetuous fer- 
vency. Would that she and she alone were in this very 
room for a few moments, that I might hear those sweet 
Cupid's bow lips utter with vehement apothegms and in- 
vectives that will either freeze my vascular system into 
inertia, or will satiate my hungry heart. This I have 
determined to do. I have rented this suite of rooms in 
this very apartment house that I may have her a few 
moments to myself. She lives here, and on this very 
floor, but two suites below mine, and she has gone to a 
party to-night, and when she returns home I will stand 
behind the drapery in ambush and wait for her. When 
she is about to pass up the hall by my door I will seize 
her and force her into my room, close the door and lock 
it. Then will I know what my future is to be with my 
inauspicious Elnore. 

(A noise can be heard in the hall, like the open- 
ing and closing of a door.) 
Richard (Looks at his watch.) — It is she! My hour 
has arrived! Richard, do your best; make or break; 
sink or swim ; survive or perish. 

(He stealthily creeps near the hall door and se- 
cretes himself behind the portieres.) 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 149 

( Elnore appears. She is attired in evening dress. 

Richard seizes her and pulls her into his room by 

main force. Elnore in a frightened manner utters a 

loud scream.) 

Richard — Don't be frightened; no one is going to rob 

you ; be calm, it is only me ! I will not hurt you unless 

you compel me to. If you are politic you will avoid 

being injured in every way. 

(As he turns and slams the door shut and turns 
the key and removes it to his pocket. ) 
I have got you now where I want you ; you are under 
my jurisdiction for awhile at least. 

Elnore (As she looks at him scornfully.) — You brute 
— youvarlet! What does this mean? 

(Rushes to the door and tries to open it and get 

into the hall. He presses her back and away.) 

Richard — I am dictator of the realm for a while, and 

it will be useless for you to make any more attempts to 

liberate yourself. Not until I am through with you, 

Madam, can you leave this room and leave it gracefully. 

You have heretofore been evasive and would not walk 

or talk with me except the parlance that conservative 

social dignity has required, and your corporeal presence 

from the automobile to the foyer of the theatre and back. 

Now you have had your day. I am going to have mine ! 

Elnore ( Puts her hands to her head in agony. ) — You 

brute! You knave! You wretch! I will scream — I 

will scream ! I will call for help if you do not let me 

out of here. 

Richard (Draws a revolver out of his pocket with a 
formidable gesture, characterizing a fiendish determina- 
tion and anger.) — If you ejaculate one scream it will be 
your last, so I will advise you not to make manifest any 
such flagrant appeals if you hold your life and health 
to be of anv value. 



150 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Elnore — What do you mean ? Why are you resorting 
to such extreme and cruel measures to hold me against 
my will? What can be your object? What good can you 
gain for yourself by so doing? My God ! You have even 
threatened my life. You hold me here in your room at 
this late hour of the night. Dear man, don't you see 
where you place me? You have not only placed my life 
in peril under your malignant, morbid, domineering su- 
premacy, but you have placed my reputation in jeopardy. 
That, as you must know, is dearer than life itself to a 
woman. Oh, Richard, I appeal to you, for the sake of 
pleasing and happy moments of the past we have experi- 
enced together, to save my reputation by letting me go 
quietly away from your presence. I appeal to you. I 
appeal to your better part. I appeal to your manhood 
and manly instincts to let me at liberty. Please, please 
let me go, I beg of you ! 

Richard — "Pleasing and happy moments of the past !" 
Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Yes, moments that have been years 
to me; moments that have sapped the very life blood 
from my breast ; moments that have grown the lamb into 
a raging lion ; moments that have caused me to curse the 
very God I should worship; moments that have extin- 
guished every spark of manhood I ever possessed; mo- 
ments that have crushed my very heart asunder, as now 
I must crush you as I crush this rose. ( Snatches a rose 
from her corsage and crushes it in his hand. ) I love the 
rose — I crush it. I love you, Elnore ; you are an Ameri- 
can beauty. I will crush you as I have crushed the rose 
and as you have crushed my heart, unless you make res- 
titution for the wrong that you perhaps have unwittingly 
committed. Can't you see that I have immolated myself 
upon love's altar? My God, woman! Can't you see that 
you have fanned the spark of love by your conservative 
attitude towards me into a flame that has and still is 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 151 

burning the very soul out of me and can only be quenched 
by tears from your emotional affection? 

Elnore — Do you think you are proving your affection 
for me by holding me against my will? Are you trying 
to cause me to love you by duress? Is it logical to main- 
tain that a man loves a woman when he threatens her 
life and misuses her? By experiencing such treatment 
as I have experienced tonight at your hands, should I 
accept it as prima facie evidence of true love, loyalty 
and affection ? No ! No ! Decidedly no ! 

Eichard — Yes! Yes! Indeed yes; always yes, when 
under these same circumstances. If one has been brought 
to them by eyes that melt the heart, and by a figure that 
both lowers and lifts the soul, and by a voice that en- 
slaves the man. Ah ! I am not alone. There have been 
others. As Solomon said, "There is nothing new under 
the sun." History is only repeating itself. In this case, 
did not Abelard love Heloise and still write her heart- 
breaking letters? Did he not go to the Paracleete and 
take up his monastic life again after he had told her 
many times he loved her — yes, and had even ruined her, 
and still he loved her. Will not one make any sacrifice 
for that which they cherish above all others? Did not 
Paula sacrifice for St. Jerome? Did not Napoleon sacri- 
fice Josephine, the only woman he ever loved, because 
she Avas effete and could not give birth to an heir for 
the throne of his collosal Empire? Did not Peter the 
Great sacrifice the nobility of Europe and negotiate a 
morganatic marriage with Catherine, who was the 
daughter of a peasant? Did not Henry the Eighth sac- 
rifice Catherine of Aragon and even offend the Pope of 
Kome to marry Anna Bolene, who was destined by God's 
providence to become the mother of Elizabeth, the 
world's greatest queen? Elnore, I only cite these few 
characters of history to show you that God often takes 



152 POEMS AND PLAYS 

these things into His own hands and perhaps has placed 
them in my own tonight. How do we know, Elnore? El- 
nore, be reasonable ; think with me and think of me. My 
God ! If you only knew the love I have for you ! 

Elnore — But your obtrusive, harsh manner of mani- 
festing your love for me passes all understanding. 

Kichard — Then just give me one opportunity to prove 
my tenderness of heart toward you! Dear girl, if you 
do not love me, and my personality is repugnant to you, 
and my physical bearing is not pleasing — do one thing 
for me at least — live with me if only in Platonic love. 
Marry me ! I will love you, love you always, be tender 
to you, and before God and before you I will take the 
oath of celibacy. I only want you for your spiritual 
worth. And still am I not offering to make a great sac- 
rifice by only taking you spiritually as my own and 
forcing the mortal part of myself to shun your physical 
grace? 

Elnore — I do not comprehend your meaning ; you will 
have to be more explicit. "Platonic love," "the oath of 
celibacy." What do you mean by such utterances? Ex- 
plain yourself. 

Eichard (Takes her hand and tenderly kisses it.) — 
Dear girl, you are innocence personified. I will explain. 
Plato, the great Greek philosopher, several centuries be- 
fore Christ, in his syllogism on Love and Marriage, said 
it was possible and logical sequence for two who really 
loved each other to marry and live together under the 
same roof, dine at the same table, live for one another's 
happiness and welfare, yet only live together socially 
and spiritually as Saints and Angels live. 

( Elnore droops her head in pensive meditation. ) 

Richard — Forgive me for my harsh treatment tonight. 
Forgive me, Elnore ! Forgive me, will you? I was driven 
to it. I was driven — I was driven. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 153 

Elnore — But you have erred and erred grossly within 
the past few moments. How can I forgive you? 

Eichard — "To err is human; to forgive, divine." So, 
dear, sweetest Elnore, forgive me, and prove to me and to 
the world that you are not harsh and cold like I have 
been this evening, but tender, meek, feminine and sub- 
missive. Come, Elnore, come to my arms and mitigate 
my malignant sufferings, if only for a moment. 

(At this moment Richard embraces Elnore and 
clasps her in his arms, and she tries to wrench her- 
self free from him, but is not successful. ) 

Elnore — How dare you act with such aggressiveness? 
What in the world impels you to do as you are doing? 
Ave you out of your right mind or what is the matter? 
How impudent of you ! Leave me to myself ! Take your 
hands from me. I will hate you, I will despise you, if 
you do not release me. 

( Tears at his hair. ) 

Richard — Hate me — despise me, if you will — pull my 
hair out — gouge my eyes out — kill me if you wish. (He 
reaches to one of his pockets and withdraws a revolver 
and throws it upon a nearby table.) There is a gun; 
after I kiss you, you may kill me. What will I care? 
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! What is life to me if you hate me 
and I cannot have you? I will only laugh and welcome 
death at your hands — the hands that were told to pull 
the trigger by a mind and heart that I love as I love 
yours, and will cause my ruin and will eventuate my 
death anyway, so what do I care? (Kisses her — kisses 
as though it was from his very soul. He cries audibly 
as he kisses, and when he releases her, says.) I have 
sealed my death-warrant with a kiss on the lips I love. 
Oh, but if I had never known or seen you ! Why did I 
not go from you before tonight and sequester myself and 
live the life of an anchorite away from the secular world 



154 POEMS AND PLAYS 

with only thoughts of you, the flowers, the air and the 
morning dew? I hope at some future time, by the inter- 
vention of our Heavenly Host, you may be able to attest 
the symphony of my heart, and the profundity of its 
purity that abounds with the thoughts of the mute ora- 
cles that have evolved from your mortal grace. You are 
the type of woman who can lower a man into the deep- 
est abyss or can raise man to the loftiest pinnacle of 
mortal perfection ! Oh, why did I not go before this 
fatal moment to fields of Arcadia, the happy hunting 
grounds of lovers and on to Mount Olympus, in the coun- 
try of the violet crown, where amid the lucid air I could 
meditate of you and feel in my day dreams that I am 
caressing and loving you reincarnated into a Goddess 
Diana, a Juno, the Queen of Heaven ; a Venus de Milo, 
or a Helen of Troy. (As he falls back, nearly fainting, 
he lowers his voice and says : ) It is finished. There is 
the gun ; kill me. I don't care to live. Life is nothing 
to me now. Go on and kill me. If you don't, I will kill 
myself, for since I cannot live with you, I shall not live 
without you, so proceed. 

(Elnore sits back looking at Richard with pene- 
trating yet tender expression. They sit in this pos- 
ture for a moment, neither uttering a word. She 
arises from her chair and picks up the revolver and 
starts toward him, and at the same time opens the 
cylinder of the revolver and extracts the cartridges. ) 
Elnore — Kill you! I kill you? I molest one fibre of 
your dear body? I let you take your own life? I let 
you commit suicide and live forever without you, you, 
you! Richard, Richard, my Richard! My loved one! 
My brave boy! Take these cartridges. They shall be 
souvenirs of our romance. God bless you! I love you 
and have always greatly admired you. But you have 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 155 

won me both in body and soul this night by your manly 
and noble aggression. 
( They embrace. ) 

(CURTAIN.) 



WOMAN 

Woman — Woman — Sister — Mother ! 

Much do the words convey. 
In every speech or song — no other 

We'd rather sing or say. 

Wo-man ! Wo-man ! Woe unto man ! 

Who weakened woman weak, 
True to the sound — 'tis they who can 

Cause big, strong men to weep. 

On Earth to every race of men, 

The Holy words are seven, 
God, Woman, Love, Soul, plus then, 

Mother, Home and Heaven. 

What's in a name? — 'Tis not the name, 
For Mary did the world illumine, 

Not in the word that gave her fame 
'Twas in the woman. 

So in every tongue of woman think, 

In every nation pray — 
For the social chain — its strongest link, 

Is Woman of today. 



156 POEMS AND PLAYS 



ANNA AND HARRY 

"Two minds with but a single thought, 

Two hearts that beat as one," 
Two souls that never need be taught 

To love — this heaven's done. 

Two souls that love the art of God, 

And pleasures of the earth, 
Two answers with a single nod, 

Two nods for a single mirth. 

Two bodies from a different sire, 

Two bv God's word enticed, 
We look to earth and even higher, 

To heaven and Jesus Christ. 

Two faces each a counterpart, 

With ego intermixed; 
Each face reflects the other's heart, 

Each heart can change the features fixed. 

Each laughs and joy that may arise, 

For one when blind the heart could feel. 

She asked for help above the skies, 
And changed woe's fabric into weal. 

Anna's thoughts were Harry's care, 

And vice versa each a boon, 
To me the fairest of the fair, 

I to her life's day — the noon. 

Now cruel death wilt thou sever, 
After we so much were given? 

Or wilt thou then unite forever — 
Two souls that live in heaven? 



BY H. L. H A P I N, M. D. 157 



THE LOVE TEST 

(Copyright, 1914, by Anna Fries Chapin.) 

Scene : 

(A hacienda in California. A wall covered with 
vines at back. An entrance through wall on right. 
A path leading up to the facade of the hacienda; a 
portico across the front ; entrance to house in C. A 
balcony over the portico, window opening to left 
and another to right of entrance; settee on portico 
behind vines. Two chairs on balcony. Steps from 
path up to portico, space centre for dancing. Trees 
in bloom and roses in profusion. Background shows 
hills of the Sierras. Paths lead by house and among 
trees. House faces D. K. and is placed well up L. 
We see a small part of the side of the house, roof 
in Spanish Mission style. The sun is low in the 
West. It is a lovely day in June. ) 

CAST. 
Manuel Geleso .... Stout, bald, stupid, jealous, elderly 
Zella. . . .His young wife, demure, romantic, coquettish 

Nita Her maid. Pretty, fond of an intrigue 

Pedro A dancer. In love with Nita 

Carlos Friend of Manuel. Man of the world 

(Zella is seated on steps watching her maid dance 
with Pedro. The orchestra plays the Spanish Fan- 
dango. Zella claps her hands. Nita gets out of 
breath and goes to the steps by the side of her mis- 
tress, who has become so excited by the dance that 
she has risen and taken a few steps by herself. This 
leads Nita to ask her mistress to dance with Pedro. ) 
Nita — I am out of breath. 



158 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Zella — I never am. 

Nit a — Will you not try a measure? 

Zella — I do not dare. 

Nita — No one will know. 

Zella — My husband? 

Nita — But he is far away. 

Zella — Where is he? 

Nita — Down by the catalpa tree. 

Zella — Has he gone to meet some one? 

Nita — Yes ; now is the time for a dance. 
(Nods to Pedro, who comes.) 

Zella — I cannot resist. 

(Pedro dances with Zella until she yields to the 
fascination of the dance. While they are dancing 
Manuel appears on the side of the house L., stands 
in amazement but does not let himself be discovered. 
At the close of the dance, Pedro becomes roguish 
and presses his lips to Zella's shoulder. She draws 
back in alarm and reproves him.) 

Zella — Pedro, you forget yourself. 

Pedro — Forgive me, I forgot you were not Nita. 

Zella — Indeed, and has Nita such shoulders? 

Pedro — Well, you see we were in such a whirl. 

Zella — Indeed ! 

(Zella goes up to the steps and sits down by 
Nita.) 

Pedro — Look down the road. Some one is coming. 

Nita (Runs to end of portico and comes back to her 
mistress.) — I believe it is the friend that your husband 
is expecting. 

Zella — Make ready to welcome him. I will go in. 

( She enters the house by the front door. Pedro 

runs behind the house. Nita smooths her apron and 

goes down the path toward the entrance in the wall. 

Manuel comes forward and goes toward Nita. Car- 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 159 

los comes through the gate and up the path, where 
Nita meets him and welcomes him. ) 

Nita — Is this Senor 

Carlos — I am Carlos Lope, an old friend of Senor 
Geloso. 

Manuel — Senor Carlos! Senor Carlos, welcome to 
my house ! Nita, take his grip. Come with me, Carlos. 

Carlos — My good Manuel, it is a pleasure for me to 
see you again. 

Manuel — Come into the house and make yourself tidy 
after the trip. 

Carlos — Thank you, but I am not fatigued. The jour- 
ney was delightful through such beautiful country. 

(They enter the house, and Pedro comes around 
by the side of the house, looking for Nita. She ap- 
pears and points to a seat down R., out of sight 
from the front of the house. He dances over to it 
and she follows him. They sit down after she has 
glanced back to see if they are secure. ) 
Nita — Did you see the stranger? 
Pedro — Yes, who is he? 

Nita — A friend of the master's. He has come for a 
visit. 

Pedro — Will the mistress be pleased? 
Nita — Of course; he is nice looking. 
Pedro — Too nice, perhaps. 

Nita — Well, trust that to master. He keeps too sharp 
an eye for much fun to happen here. 

Pedro — When an old man takes a young wife, he 
needs to keep a sharp eye on her. 

Nita — That is the way with men. They are all as 
jealous as can be, without the least reason in the world. 
Look at you. 

Pedro — I cannot help it. You keep me on pins and 
needles. 



160 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Nita — I don't want you to feel too sure of me. 

Pedro — Will you keep it up after we are married? 

Nita — Of course. You would be running away if I 
didn't. 

Pedro — But I don't want to be jealous of you. 

Nita — It will do you good. You'll have to keep your 
eyes on me ; then you'll have no time for other women. 

Pedro — Don't be too sure. 

Nita — You were making eyes at my mistress. 

Pedro — I wouldn't dare, but I think she would like 
to have me. 

Nita — You conceited fellow. Don't let me see yon do 
it again. 

Pedro — Why did she ever marry such an old man? 

Nita — She had no choice ; her parents were poor. 

Pedro — No wonder he is jealous of her, Nita. 

( Nita rises and goes to the front of the house, and 
Pedro slips away. Manuel enters from main en- 
trance, followed by Carlos. Nita brings a small 
table and places it down R. C. with three chairs 
near it, then retires.) 

Carlos — My dear friend, you are happy at last in this 
lovely spot. 

Manuel — I should be entirely happy, but for one 
thing. 

Carlos — What can it be? 

Manuel — My wife's extreme youth and gaity. 

Carlos — But surely these things should inspire you. 

Manuel — We have been married nearly a year, but I 
do not know that my wife really loves me. 

Carlos — Leave that to your best friend. I can tell you 
when I see her. 

Manuel — I knew you would. Women are always a 
mystery to me, but to you they are like an open book. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 161 

Carlos — But you wrote me that your wife was young 
and innocent. 

(Nita appears and her master bids her summon 
her mistress. She goes. Before she enters the door 
her mistress comes from the front entrance. The 
two men rise, and Manuel introduces Zella.) 

Manuel — Zella, this is my old friend, Senor Carlos. 
Carlos, my wife. 

(Zella advances to him smilingly and gives him 
her hand, which he bends over gallantly. ) 

Zella — You are more than welcome, Don Carlos. 
Manuel has spoken of you so often that I feel as if I 
already knew you. 

Carlos (Who has been admiring her whenever Man- 
uel was not looking at him.) — You are very kind. 

Manuel ( Turns to Carlos while Zella shows eagerness 
to scrutinize the newcomer. ) — My house is yours. 

Carlos — My visit will surely be a pleasant one if the 
warmth of your welcome is any indication. 

Zella (Her fascinated glances at Carlos have not 
been noticed by her husband.) — May I not bring you 
both some cooling beverage while you finish your smoke? 

Manuel, — The very thing, my dear. 

Zella — We dine late these warm days, Senor Carlos. 

Carlos — That will suit me very well. 

Zella ( Continues her admiration for Carlos whenever 
Manuel is not looking.) — I shall be back in a few min- 
utes. ( Exit to house. ) 

Manuel (He and Carlos resume their seats and re- 
light their cigarettes. ) — What do you think of my wife, 
Don Carlos? 

Carlos — She is a little timid, isn't she? 

Manuel (Gratified.) — Ah, I am glad that you think 
so. It raises my hopes. 

Carlos — I am sure that you have nothing to fear. 



162 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Manuel — I shall be happy if you are right, but I am 
so miserable. 

(He shows maudlin emotion.) 

Carlos — You are surely not jealous of your wife, are 
you? 

Manuel — Alas, yes. 

Carlos — Have you any reason? 

Manuel — She is not responsive ; she is young ; she is 
gay ; she is lively. 

Carlos — But that is all very natural. 

Manuel — I know that, but how can I be sure that she 
is beyond the reach of temptation? 

Carlos (Shakes his head.) — She is too shy to be 
tempted. 

Manuel — Are you willing to help me drive away my 
fears, to banish my doubts? 

Carlos — Why, of course. You may command me, but 
I fail to see how I can do what you ask. 

Manuel — Will you tempt her for me? If she resists 
you I shall know that she is constant. 

Carlos — You flatter me. I have no powers of attrac- 
tion, no jewels to give her, no beautiful presents to touch 
her heart or her vanity. She is beyond my reach. 

Manuel — Your sentiments are precisely what I fore- 
saw. I can trust you in every way. If you should see 
that she is weakening, you would retreat and confirm my 
suspicion, but not violate my trust. 

Carlos — I am certain that you are mistaken, but I 
am willing to carry out your scheme; if its failure will 
relieve you from suspense and anxiety. 

Manuel — You are the best friend that I could have. 
You see how I will suffer and you will save me. I shall 
contrive to leave you alone with her, and your genuine 
nature will dictate what course to pursue. 

Carlos — As you please. 



BY E. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 163 

Zella (Keturns with tray, two glasses and a pitcher 
of claret. She serves the two men.) — Is it cold enough? 

Carlos — Perfect. 

Manuel — I wish to leave Don Carlos in your care for 
a short time, Zella. See that he is entertained in every 
way until my return. Carlos, my house is yours. I shall 
be grieved if you do not feel at home. ( Kises. ) 

Carlos (Rises.) — I am sorry that you have to go. 
Please return soon. 

Manuel — I shall not be long. Zella, be sure and make 
him feel at home. 

(He goes down the path, while Zella and Carlos 
watch and wave to him as he passes through the 
doorway. ) 

Carlos — Shall I remain here? 

Zella — Is there anything you would like? 

Carlos — Nothing better than to be with you. 

Zella — I am afraid I must go if you begin to flatter 
me. 

Carlos — It is an honest expression of my heart. 

Zella — How can I be sure of that? 

Carlos — Ask your own heart. 

Zella— Will it tell me? 

Carlos — Has it been utterly quiet? 

Zella — I don't dare to listen. 

Carlos — Why not? 

Zella — It is throbbing so vigorously. 

Carlos — What does it seem to say? 

Zella — Many things that it never felt before. 

Carlos — Then Manuel has not touched it? 

Zella — Not in the same way. (Dreamily and hap- 
pily. ) It is different. 

Carlos — Don't let it frighten you away from me. (Ap- 
proaches her. ) 



164 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Zella — It will if you are not very careful. ( Backing 
away modestly. ) 

Carlos — What is the danger? Are you afraid of be- 
ing seen? 

Zella — Yes, I will run no risk. My people are poor. 
They depend on me. 

Carlos — I understand. There will be no danger. Do 
you trust me? 

Zella — Let me go now. I must be alone to think. 

Carlos — Where shall I see you — in the house? 

Zella — No, my maid is too keen. She has a lover and 
knows. 

Carlos — How would the balcony do? 

Zella (Looks at the balcony and smiles.) — Is it safe? 

Carlos — Does it not open from my room? 

Zella — Yes, and from mine also. 

Carlos — You could go at once if anyone came. 

Zella — Not in the broad daylight. 

Carlos — This evening, then, if there is any chance to 
see you there I will come. 

Zella — It will be dangerous^ but I will run the risk. 
( Goes slowly to the front door, where she pauses, 
turns, glances at Carlos, waves her hand, smiles and 
exits. ) 

Carlos — Adios. 

(Goes to table, sits facing audience, sings until 
Nita comes to remove tray.) 

Nita — Shall I pour the Senor some claret? 

Carlos — No, thank you; and what do they call you? 

Nita — My name is Nita, Senor. 

( Exits L. with tray and glasses. ) 

Pedro ( Enters from beyond portico, bowing profusely 
as he approaches Carlos.) — Can I do anything for the 
Senor? 

Carlos — Not now. And who are you? 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 165 

Pedro — I am Pedro, the factotum of the Hacienda. 
Master told me to look after your excellency. 

Carlos — Very well, come to my room presently and 
help me dress for dinner. ( Rises, looks at watch, yawns. ) 
I will take a little siesta. ( Passes out. ) 

Pedro ( Runs ahead of him and opens the door with a 
nourish.) — I hope that the Senor rests well. (Comes 
back and looks for Nita, who enters L. ) 
Nita — Where did he go? 

Pedro — To take a siesta. AVhere is the mistress? 
Nita — In her room. 
Pedro — Come and sit on the portico. 
Nita — Not long. I must be ready for the mistress 
when she calls me. 

Pedro — And I must dress the Senor. (They sit on 
portico behind the vines.) Will the master be back 
soon? 

Nita — I don't think so. Hush! Don't make a noise. 
They must not know that we are here. 
Pedro — I will be as still as a mouse. 

(Carlos enters balcony from his window. Zella 
steps softly from her room, with finger on lips, 
moves towards Carlos, points with finger below. 
They stand listening, then Zella turns her face up 
to his and kisses him softly. Pedro kisses Nita 
loudly. The stage grows dark. The love-making 
above is echoed below until Manuel comes up the 
pathway. He hears a kiss and becomes excited. 
He tiptoes up to the portico without being seen. 
Pedro gives Nita a kiss and she pushes him away. 
He falls off the portico, picks himself up and seeing 
the master, runs off L. ) 
Manuel ( Rushes up to Nita and grabs her. She strug- 
gles and conceals her face.) — How could you do it? You 
have deceived me ! 



166 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Zella rises and leans over the balcony. Carlos 
pantomimes that Manuel has mistaken Nita for her, 
then retreats to his room.) 

Zella — Nita, stop that noise! You will wake up the 
Senor. (Manuel is astonished and releases Nita, who 
runs away and exits L.) Nita, why don't you answer 
me? (Manuel tiptoes back to steps, but falls down in 
path. Why, Manuel ! 

(He picks himself up and holds out his hands to 
her, groans and rubs himself, holds up one hand and 
with the other rubs himself, then changes hands. ) 

Manuel — Oh, Zella, I fell down the steps. 

Zella — Are you hurt? 

Manuel — No. 

Carlos (Enters from his room.) — What is the com- 
motion? 

Zella — Oh, Senor, did it waken you? 

Manuel — I'm sorry, Carlos, if I disturbed your slum- 
bers. 

Carlos (With pretended surprise.) — Has Manuel re- 
turned? 

Zella — Yes, and fallen down the steps. 

Carlos (Advances to edge of balcony.) — Did you hurt 
yourself, Manuel? 

Manuel (Groans.) — No. (Rubs his knees.) 

Carlos — I am afraid you have; I will come down at 
once. (Exits through his room.) 

Zella — Are you sure you are not hurt, Manuel ? 

Manuel — No, indeed, I'm all right now. 

Zella — Are you sure? 

Manuel — Quite sure. Don't worry about it. 

Zella — Where is Nita? 

Manuel — Gone with Pedro. 

Zella — They woke the Senor from his nap. 

Carlos (Enters from front door.) — All right again? 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 167 

Manuel — Yes, indeed; I merely stumbled. 

Zella — Is he able to walk? (Stifles her laughter.) 

Carlos (Comes down steps and signs Manuel to go 
down front.) — O, certainly! 

Zella — Then I'll go back to my room again. 

Manuel — That's right; we'll go and have a smoke. 

Zella — Very well. (Exits.) 

Manuel (Limps down front with Carlos and sinks 
into a chair. ) — I made a grave mistake. 

Carlos — How so? 

Manuel — I thought Nita was Zella. I found her 
talking to a man and kissing him. 

Carlos — Does your wife know? 

Manuel — I hope not; I never could explain it. 

Carlos — Don't try to. You never can explain to a 
woman. 

Manuel — Do you think Nita will tell? 

Carlos — Women always tell everything but the truth. 

Manuel — What can I do? 

Carlos — Make your wife forget it. 

Manuel — How? 

Carlos — The usual way. 

Manuel — What is that? 

Carlos — Are you a married man and don't know how 
to make your wife trade one thought for another? 

Manuel — I'm married, but I don't know that. 

Carlos — Supplant revenge with ecstasy. 

Manuel — Wliat do you mean? 

Carlos — Is there nothing she wants very badly? 

Manuel — She has been coaxing for a ring. 

Carlos — The very thing. 

Manuel — The shop will be closed. 

Carlos — Fly. (Looks at his watch.) You still have 
ten minutes. 

Manuel — Good. (Trots off down path, limping.) 



168 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Zella ( Enters from her window, hears the gate slam, 
comes to corner of balcony, sees Carlos below. ) — Has he 
gone? 

Carlos — To the shop. 

Zella— Why? 

Carlos — For a surprise for you. Wait, I'll come up. 
(Exits C.) 

Nita (Enters, pursued by Pedro, runs to the table, 
which she keeps between them.) — I say I didn't. 

Pedro — You did ; you pushed me off the seat. 

Nita — I saved you from a good scolding. 

Pedro — What was the master so mad about? 

Nita — How do I know? 

Pedro — What did he say to you? 

Nita — He scolded me for making so much noise. 

Pedro (Sarcastically.) — Is that so? 

Nita — I told you not to waken the Senor. 

Pedro — You are very careful of the Senor! 

Nita — Don't be jealous. 

Pedro — Who is jealous? 

Nita — You act like it. 

Pedro — Well, I guess I know what I see. 

Nita — Don't believe what you see, then. 

Pedro — Seeing is believing ! 

Nita — Not when you see through green goggles ! 

Pedro — I saw master grab you. 

Nita — He did not mean to grab me. 

Pedro— What? 

Nita — Come over here and I'll tell you. (She goes to 
the table and sits facing balcony; he sits facing her.) — 
Master thought I was the mistress! 

Pedro — Who did he think I was? 

Nita (Impressively.) — Don Carlos, of course. 

Pedro — Then he is jealous of him? 

Nita — Yes. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 169 

Pedro — Why? 

Nita (Looks toward the balcony and sees the silhou- 
ette of Zella and Carlos upon the curtain of her room. ) — 
Look for yourself and see ! 

Pedro (Turns and sees them.) — I told you just how it 
would be when an old man marries a young woman. 

Nita — O, hush ; better be an old man's darling than a 
young man's slave ! 

Pedro — So that's what you think, is it? 
Nita — O, you silly; what shall we do if the master 
comes back and finds them together? 
Pedro — We'll hide. 

Nita — No, we won't. We'll help. (Manuel is heard 
oft' stage. ) There he is now. 
Pedro — What can we do? 

Nita — Save them from the master. We must take 
their places. 

Pedro — Take their places? 

Nita — Yes; do you object to that beautiful picture? 
(She pushes him ahead of her and they exit L.) 

(Manuel stops to fasten the gate, and as he comes 
up the path examines the ring he has purchased. 
Sees the silhouette on his wife's curtain.) 
Manuel — My eyes deceive me ! 

(Euns to the steps, takes out his handkerchief 
and weeps. Meanwhile Nita and Pedro have taken 
the places of Zella and Don Carlos at the curtain, 
and we see the imitated tableau. Zella and Carlos 
come downstairs as Manuel, now in anger, stealth- 
ily climbs the lattice. He reaches the window and 
roars to his supposed wife.) 
Manuel — Zella! What does this mean? (Shakes 
window and finds it locked. ) Open the window ! 

( The curtain goes up and the window is unlocked 
and Manuel sees Nita and Pedro in each other's 
arms, with Zella and Carlos behind them.) 



170 POEMS AND PLAYS 

O, I thought Clear out of here! Both of you! 

Where is my darling Zella? 

(Pedro and Mta disappear.) 

Zella (From below.) — Manuel, what is the matter? 

Manuel — Why, I thought I saw you and Carlos. 

Zella— Well? 

Maunel — / say I thought I saw you and Carlos! 

Zella — What of it if you did? Why are you so angry 
at seeing us? 

Manuel — But I didn't see you down there. 

Zella — Manuel, you are seeing double. 

Manuel — O, I beg your pardon, my darling, chaste 
little Zella! 

Zella — I hope you will excuse my husband for his 
vagaries, Don Carlos ! 

Manuel — Well, who wouldn't have vagaries if he saw 
another man kissing his wife? 

Zella — Manuel, you are crazy! You didn't think I 
would let Don Carlos do such a thing? 

Manuel— I thought I saw you on the window curtain 
with my own eyes. 

Carlos ( Laughs boisterously. ) — Impossible ! 

Zella — Surely, Manuel, you did not believe ! 

Manuel — As I came up the path I saw two people 
kissing each other behind the curtain. I saw the shadow 
just as plain as day. 

Carlos — O, that was Pedro and Nita. (Both laugh.) 

Manuel — I have eyes in my head ! I thought I knew 
my own wife! 

Carlos — Not when she is kissing another man ! Hus- 
bands are always blind then ! ( Laughs. ) 

Zella — I thought Don Carlos was your best friend, 
the man whom you trusted, and now you are accusing 
him of kissing me behind your back. 

Carlos — And all the while it was Nita and Pedro. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 171 

Manuel — What were they doing in your room? 

Zella — Kissing, of course! Just as they were when 
you caught them behind the vines. You are surely not 
absurd enough to be jealous? 

Carlos — How could you even think of being jealous 
of me? 

Manuel — I have made a sad mistake. It was really 
Pedro and Mta that I saw, I guess. 

Zella — I am angry with you, Manuel. You have cast 
aspersions on your old friend and made him think the 
very worst of me. Why 

Manuel — Don't be angry with me, Zella. 

Zella — But Don Carlos must think that you are ac- 
customed to finding me in other men's arms! 

Manuel — O, I apologize to you. I assure you that 
it shall never happen again. (To Carlos.) — Carlos, you 
are not angry with me, are you? 

Carlos — No, Manuel, I am not angry, but I am 
chagrined that you should suspect your dear little wife 
of the least impropriety. 

Zella — O, Manuel, how could you ever suspect me? 
I have never suspected you, Manuel! (Begins to cry 
softly, then louder as she sees Manuel weaken.) 

Manuel — There! there! there! Don't cry, please! I 
can't bear to see your chaste little heart suffering ! 

( She keeps one eye upon him and cries louder ; he 
is at his wits' end, when Carlos takes off his ring 
and makes signs to him. He catches at the sugges- 
tion and tries to get Zella's attention. ) 

Zella — O, Manuel, can I ever forgive you for your 
cruel suspicion? 

Manuel — Please, Zella, look ! 

Zella — Look at what? 

Manuel — A token of my renewed faith and abject 
apology. 



172 POEMS AND PLAYS 

(Places the case with the ring in it in her hand. 
She takes it and gradually takes away her handker- 
chief from her eyes.) 

Zella — What is it? 

Manuel — Open it, dear. It is a present for you. A 
peace offering. 

Zella — Open it for me, please! 

Manuel — No, you must open it yourself. 

Zella (Plays with it coquettishly, but finally opens 
the case and screams with delight as she tries the ring 
on her finger. ) — O, it is a ring, and a pearl, too. I have 
always wanted one. Now I know you are not suspicious 
of me. O, how can I thank you for it? 

Manuel — Only by being the same true little wife that 
you are. 

Zella — You are perfectly satisfied with me as I am, 
then? 

Manuel — O, perfectly ! 

Carlos — I am sorry, Manuel, but after what has hap- 
pened I am unwilling to remain here and further disturb 
your quietude. 

Manuel — You must not think of leaving us, Carlos. 
Zella, plead with him to stay! He is angry with me, 
and I do not blame him. 

Zella — Indeed, I shall not plead with him. That is 
your duty, not mine ! 

Manuel — Carlos, you will forgive me for the foolish 
old ass that I am? 

Carlos — Of course I forgive you; and I will stay as 
long as you like, now that you have made the love test. 

Zella — What? Was this a love test? 

Manuel — Yes, my darling, a love test; and you are 
not found wanting. 

(CURTAIN.) 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 173 

cTWISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

MY LITTLE GIRL OF TEN 

Prologue 
The weakest hand can cease the strongest life, 

And pose in quietude the feverish human breath ; 
But the strongest hand with shot and shell, 
With lance, with sword or knife, 

Can't take away the only boon to living sorrow — death. 

***** 

While strolling through the forest slope 

I met a girl of ten ; 
Within her breast were Faith and Hope ; 

At her side was little Ben. 

Beneath her breath she muttered low 

W r ords I could not hear ; 
Lower than a human voice 

Spoke a flowing tear. 

"Good morning, little one," said I. 

"What brings you to these parts, 
Where beasts and sinful men are nigh — 

No place for youthful hearts." 

"And where are you about to go, 
And where's your home and Pa? 

Tell me all I ask to know. 
Have you a loving Ma?" 

This little one to shield from harm, 
When I these words thus spoke, 

Grabbed her little brother's arm. 
Her sleeping soul awoke. 



174 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Awoke when tender words were said, 
A blush came o'er her brow, 

The erstwhile pleasing voice long dead 
Had pinioned back to now. 

She raised her large blue eyes to heaven, 

I think I see them still — 
It took away — and back had given 

A ray of Godly will. 

She answered me, O God ; those words, 
I've heard both Sage and Kings, 

I've heard the songs of heavenly birds, 
But to earth such heaven brings. 

"Kind sir, this is my little brother, 

I have no other friend. 
You speak of home and of my mother ; 

Together how they blend. 

"Papa died last and left us two 

With a cruel hunting man. 
He gives us heavy work to do 

In hides; he kills — we tan. 

"And now we weep for Mama's care — 
For she was good and kind ; 

Though we're to see her, when and where? 
'Tis she we are trying to find." 

"But she is dead, you say, dear child," 

These words I interposed, 
"She is not in this forest wild — 
She's beyond those gates death's closed." 



"Yes, kind Sir, but that is where- 
However strange it seems — 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 175 

We are on our way, we are going there 
She told me in my dreams. 

"Last night as I lay on my bed, 

With brother at my side, 
She told me that she wasn't dead, 

That real Christians never died. 

"She did not tell me where she was, 

Though said not far away, 
Have brother do what sister does 

And both won't need to stay. 

"Walk over to the canyon way," 

She pointed to the steep, 
"Raise your eyes, to the Virgin pray, 

Then in the air both leap. 

"Your bodies will go down below, 

They'll swing the gate to close, 
As Christ went down into Limbo 

And then to heaven arose. 

"And now kind Sir, I will repeat 

We're on our way to There, 
Where loving Mama we can meet 

By just jumping in the air." 

I'd read the works of men of lore, 

Of Patriarchs, wise and quaint, 
But never met in youth before, 

A Savant, Sage and Saint. 

Her form and years composed a chilc^ 

A model in design; 
In will so strong, and yet so mild — 

Both human and divine. 



176 POEMS AND PLAYS 

I argued with this orphan long, 
This ward of field and wood, 

She did not to this realm belong, 
This well I understood. 

I told her dreams were only dreams 
She must not make the leap, 

With mind awake how real it seems, 
When the reason's sound asleep. 

I recounted Nature's beauty here, 

I plucked a budding rose. 
"You are as this, my little dear, 

Its beauty with it grows. 

"Perhaps with you, my little friend, 
With eyes and mind so keen, 

You will not only court attend, 
But will be a nation's queen. 

"For such there is, and such there'll be 
For such the world has seen, 

Right in this little form may see 
Another Josephine." 

This raised her from her morbid realm 
By these few words I've wrote, 

They served as rudders at the helm 
To guide the craft afloat. 

The day was now a-dying fast, 

Still it could never end 
Except the time itself we passed, 

But not my little friend. 

"Good-bye ! Good-bye !" she said, "Good-bye, 
I hope we meet again." 



B Y 17. L. V H A P I N, M. D. Ill 

A tear appeared within her eye, 
This little girl of ten. 

She turned and left me where I stood, 

That word will ever dwell, 
She waved her hand far in the wood, 

She said a last Farewell. 

I sighed, and thought how true to say, 

As wandering slowly home, 
Good deeds all lead a single way, 

As roads all lead to Rome. 

MY LITTLE GIRL OF TEN 
(Ten Years have Elapsed) 
Ten years have passed away since then ; 

I o'er these parts surveyed. 
Dan Cupid with this girl once ten, 
Called — my heart obeyed. 

O'er streams, through woods, I wandered slow. 

Where can that maiden be? 
Not thinking I'd e'er live to know, 

Much less I'd live to see. 

Upon my trail appeared a maid, 

I stopped and there I stood, 
As she approached me on the glade. 

'Twas her — in womanhood. 

She was once poor in abject need, 

When I had seen her last, 
Here came the substance for the deed, 

My present was her past. 

I'd grown poor in earthly goods, 
My friends had died away, 



178 POEMS AND PLAYS 

But she now even owned the woods, 
Where we had met that day. 

Now I, not her, had cause to weep, 
For life was black and drear, 

I on my way to make the leap, 
I'd taught her once to fear. 

"Good morning," said this maiden fair, 
Not knowing to whom she spoke. 

My life was changed right then and there, 
My morbid soul awoke. 

I was on my way, but changed my mind, 

To leap and take my life, 
But dissembled all to keep her blind, 

From this paradox so rife. 

"Where are you bound, kind Sir, this morn? 

What makes you look so blue? 
Have friends by death away been torn, 

And home been taken too ? 

"Yes, home and friends have left me here 

To fight for life alone, 
I'm about to do, what I've taught to fear, 

To leap from yonder stone. 

"Back in the night of ages, men, 
Called Stoics cold and grave, 

To laugh at life and death contemn 
Were the bravest of the brave. 

"And still there was another cult, 
That held when afraid of life, 

That greater valor will result, 
By conquering every strife." 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, if. D. 179 

"Kind Sir, please weigh the words I speak, 

I felt the same as you, 
My friends were dead, my body weak, 

But God in man came too. 

"Came to my aid, O ! bless his Soul, 

Of God he was a part, 
He saved my body as his toll, 

He now may have my heart. 

"For Legion doesn't speak of one, 

Nor history don't record, 
A helping hand but what it won, 

The sanction of the Lord. 

"I found life's refuge in His words, 

The tenor of my way, 
From tanning hides and cattle herds, 

To what I am today. 

" 'Twas He who saved me from the grave, 

To another I was heir, 
He left me what took years to save, 

O ! now the others where ? 

"But before I go I'll caution you, 

Don't do what you intend, 
Life's like a perfect day when through, 

'Tis brightest at the end. 

"To quote my friend who said a rose, 

Enhanced at every stage, 
Youth though frail as older grows, 

Becomes venerable in age." 

While uttering this philosophic theme, 
I doffed my hat and said, 



180 POEMS AND PLAYS 



a ? 



Tis I who changed you from your dream, 
Or you would now be dead." 

She crowded nearer now to view, 

The present through the past, 
She scanned the old time and the new 

Our first day and the last. 

She labored to express her mind, 

When I the above confessed, 
In blossoms, trees expression finds, 

Her smile was love expressed. 

I clasped her in my arms and pressed 

A kiss upon her cheek. 
By heaven we were surely blest, 

The submissive and the meek. 

We spoke of memories of the past, 

And reciprocated love, 
Love sanctioned by a power vast, 

God's Providence above. 

We blessed the Fates the way they led — 
For God knows more than men, 

By heavenly wisdom I am wed — 
To my little Girl of Ten. 

APPEAL 
When far beyond all mortal hope 
Our thoughts will upward steal, 
With latent power we can not cope, 

We only can appeal. 
Appeal to heaven, for only heaven 

Can rescue at this hour, 
What seemed before to be so weak, 
Is now the greatest power. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 181 

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 

Note. — There are perhaps no events of the past that 
stand out with as much historical prominence as the 
Crusades of the Middle Ages. 

When Peter the Hermit began to proselyte and promul- 
gate the First Crusade to the Holy City, he had in view 
the redemption of the Holy Sepulchre by force of arms 
from the guardianship of the Saracens, who were of the 
Islam worship, like the Ottoman or Turk. They were 
guilty of desecrating the shrines and tombs of the Chris- 
tian heroes, and also made it unsafe for a Christian pil- 
grim to visit the Holy City. On this account people 
throughout Europe had become fanatics on the subject of 
relieving the Holy Sepulchre of its domineering guar- 
dianship by the Saracens. 

The Cross was their banner and palladium. They 
would either conquer by or die with this "Oriflame." 
If they died in this great cause they were satisfied their 
attempt would earn for them the eternal and immediate 
salvation of their souls. 

Hundreds of thousands of Soldiers of the Cross 
marched over the frozen passes of the Alps, and as many 
more took passage upon small vessels, many of whom 
never reached the Holy Lands. With one exception, in 
all of the many Crusades, they were to meet defeat both 
at the hands of the Kaliph's soldiers or the elements. 
Disease, famine, hunger, pestilence and intrigue so deci- 
mated their ranks that they were compelled to capitu- 
late and return home after undergoing suffering that 
has no parallel in the annals of human agony. For cen- 
turies this went on. Kings, Princes, Dukes, Knights 
and Generals and the most noble of Europe's noblemen 
led armies hither! Some were made Saints by their 
noble endeavors, and others retrogressed by the envir- 



182 P E M 8 AND PL A Y 8 

onment of moral turpitude brought on by military ad- 
versity. 

After centuries of failure, an army of children mobil- 
ized with the Cross as their standard, and their only 
weapons their strong hearts. They left parents, friends 
and lovers to cross the sea that Avas to divide its waters 
that they might walk on dry land to the Holy City. It 
was also prophesied they would be aided over the Alps, 
and that they were to be the only truly successful ones 
on account of their innocence. This stimulated them to 
the extent that 40,000 children of both sexes started out 
on their hazardous journey that ended in their doom. 

Their suffering through misadventure has never been 
properly written, partly for the reason they had no 
chroniclers, and mostly because it was so terrible that 
it would be nearly impossible to write it as it really was 
— especially their ignominious ending. 

Many were taken aboard ships in southern France and 
sent to the Barbary coast, the crews of the ships pretend- 
ing they were on their way to the Holy Land. They were 
sold as slaves to the heathens. Only one after many 
years ever returned to tell the story. 

Six thousand were shipwrecked, and by chance were 
cast upon the shores of a small island, where even at this 
day can be seen the ruins of a Church that was erected 
by them to perpetuate their memory. This Church was 
called a The Church of the Holy Innocents." 

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE 

Forty thousand strong! 
The Cross their banner, 
And with brain and brawn 
In imploring manner, 
They march along. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 183 

With ground for bed 

And sky for cover, 

Neither driven or are they led, 

Leaving father, leaving mother, 

None are wed — 

Tho' all betrothed to a heavenly lover 

As on they tread. 

What will occur? 

No wings, no fur, 

Or fish for fish as in the sea 

To commiserate. The provender 

Will fall from Heaven when we free 

The Holy Sepulchre. 

Backward waved 

Will be the sea, 

For He has promised you and me 

Tho' lost we are saved, 

And when we've braved, 

Our youthful band, 

And cross the Alps with help from Thee 

We are in the Holy Land. 

Who will blame? 

Before our fathers did the same, 

To suffering dumb. 

Our arms the cross or oriflame 

As well as our palladium. 

And on they marched, 

On mountains frozen, 

On deserts parched. 

Death stiffened cold, the story goes, 

Some — ice had starched, 

The rest — God only knows, 



184 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Except this Crusade when it closed 

Has left a sequel on an isle, 

In silence speaks in their defence. 

This noble pile, 

For children brave. 

A Church to mark the youthful grave 

Called the "Holy Innocents." 

THE LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN 
In the Land of the Midnight Sun, 

Whose children of the sea, 
Hold the fame their fathers won, 

Through Viking piracy. 

Where the earthquakes crevice hordes 

The echoing water spills, 
Down, down through the mighty fjords 

From the snow-melting caps of the hills. 

As cunning and sly as a fox, 

As he bounds in the copse and the free ; 

It laughs in its wash through the rocks, 
It moans and its groans to the sea. 

If a poem in the air could be "froze," 
And the myth-seeing eye could extort, 

It would change into verse from the prose, 
For such is the Land of the North. 

There's one — only one of its kind ; 

There are months in its night and its day. 
God's art if you seek you can find, 

In the Land of the Northern way. 

Then sing of its folklore and sages, 

Sing the old sagas to me, 
That sound like a song from the ages, 

In the Land of the Arctic Sea. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 185 

ECCLESIASTICS 

(Adapted from the Old Testament.) 
Awake ! Awake ! Begin the song 
Some Saint as muse my theme prolong! 
Wave worded incense from thy throne, 
List long the lyre, swell sweet the tone, 
The Bible's rose ever-flowering stem, 
The singing King — of Jerusalem. 

Vain is vanity, enchanting vanity, 
A fault amenable to all humanity. 
Trees only bud to bloom and sever; 
They wilt and fall to earth forever. 
Successive seasons will supply, 
Eepeat, renew, repent, rely, 
On death, beyond its mystic way; 
Love lasting life — eternity. 
Flesh and leaf — both grow to spill 
But Mother Earth abideth still. 

Majestic earth, supremely blessed — 
One-half in darkness — light the rest. 
Not even sun with rays divine, 
Can all the earth at once entwine ; 
Earth stupendous — grand bedight! 
In mantled darkness shade of light 
Except the softened lunar ray, 
The valley of the solar day, 
The light that feeds our lawn-laid sod, 
Is sun, the shadow of our God. 

The listing zephyrs toy the mist, 
Sun-heated showers heavenly kissed. 
Full swell the streams — forward flowing free, 
To gulfs and unsatiated sea. 



186 POEMS AND PLAYS 

World is and was and always is to be, 

In the night of ages and to all mortality, 

The same the living God to all ages one. 

There is nothing new beneath the glowing sun. 

******** 

The elite, the elect, the plebeian, the low, 
Are in travail, and toil, and in moil, as they go 
Through life ephemeral, full of fever and pain — 
A perpetual pageant marching onward in vain 
The harrowed glebe of wisdom reflects o'er the field 
The search for religion, natural and revealed. 
The past is our knowledge, to know of tomorrow ; 
The mirror that reflects the wisdom of sorrow. 
We could not enjoy the pleasures today, 
If we knew the events always flowing our way. 
It floods man and glory away — and so soon, 
Earth time is changing — Heaven always at noon. 

There's no points to the compass — no ups or no downs 

'Tis infinite greatness of circuits and rounds. 

There's a time for each purpose — a place for each stone, 

There is lymph for the flesh, there is lime for the bone. 

Gestation has its seasons — birth has its pains, 

Life has pollutions — death purgates the stains. 

Oft rulers of kingdoms, in dotage supplies 

The vulnerable weakness, that youth's wisdom decries. 

Beasts have their instinct, God's ego in part. 

Our soul is mind's reason, their's is their heart. 

Flesh burdens its kindred, wealth burdens wealth. 

One injures our actions, the other our health. 

A profligate parent wasting substance, the sire 

Fans predisposition, its spark into fire, 

That burns in prosperity's realms, and behold 

The ruin of adventure and temerity bold. 

Commendable virtue is more precious than oil. 



B Y H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 187 

At the end of our pilgrmage, we rest by our toil ; 

Members and viscera must labor to feed. 

One and the other, for neither can lead 

To the house of the mourning. "lis better to go 

Than to visit the palace, of feasting aglow. 

The former relieveth the friction of grief, 

The latter decreaseth longevity brief. 

I, I, Son of David, my words will redown, 

For I leave Israel greater, greater much than I found. 

The land of the Hebrews, to my credit record, 

For the record of deeds this side of the Lord 

Is all that remains. When I pass from the clime 

The victor of substance, though vanquished by time, 

I leave what I build perhaps to a knave, 

Or as great as a fool, as my father was brave. 

So void as a valley of vanity vain, 

The knowledge of Moses and the folly of Cain 

Are alike where the guider and the guided are blind, 

For men see no further than space and the wind. 

There's a clime for each flower, a season to bloom, 

It comes never late, and is never too soon 

Without the knowledge of God. One shrub is a curse; 

It would alter the scales of the whole universe. 

What is here was before — here it always will stay. 

Not a grain can man add, or a grain take away, 

The symposium of mirth is the festivity of fools. 

The valitude breeder — when riot reveler rules — 

The prompter of wisdom from mendicant's tongue 

Is better to practice than when it is sung — 

By ebriety's coxcomb, superciliously gay, 

For bribed understanding will taketh away. 

The standard of wisdom, sobriety's law, 

It panders to ruin, with tooth and with claw. 



188 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Cold and gray is the birth of day 

But crowned with light in eternal dying night. 

So patient be, for pride can't comfort thee. 

Let time devour thy present sorrowing hour 

Into reflected revelry. 

If good pursue some sin we do, 

For flowers and weeds will grow from seeds 

Sown by virtuous hands so true. 

To enjoy thy food, they hands employ, 

As does the laboring swain, who tills the glebe 

Or sails the main for joy. 

Thy portion crave; in it be brave, 

Incarnate sprite is living might; 

The rest is Sheol or the grave. 

Cast favor free upon the human sea 

And one will grow to two, to me and you. 

'Tis reciprocity. 

Rejoice in youth, for youth will be thy choice 

In after days, in thoughts of early Mays, 

As Abelard and Heloise. 

******* 

Remember when young, let swell from thy tongue 

The anthem of love for God up above. 

Before the tocsin of age has been run, 

for dim are the eyes and more often the sighs 

When we reach to the day when fragile and gray 

Pleasure of earth, he denies. 

The Golden Bowl is broken to release the soul, his token. 

And the sheards with rust go back to dust, 

The essence to eternal youth awaken. 

The moral code will light the road 

For son of man to travel free, and ever be 

Within his company, in heaven's abode 

All else is dross and vanity. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 189 

THE CONGRESS OF PEACE 
When Europe's greatest war has ceased to be, 
And Congress of the Kings convenes to free 
Their feet from out the mire respectively, 
Why may we see? 

And what the world unborn may see in history 
And what these hostile Kings may see reflectively. 

'Twill be celestial food the muse enjoy 
For another Virgil's pen and Homer's Troy — 
Another Prince may leave his Trojan home 
And, like Romulus, found another Rome, 
Without a stop for Dido's fond embrace 
But see as Janus with a double face, 

Amid the throng of princes here convened 
The brother of Romulus, the living son of Mars 
Is panoplied for field, the monarch fiend, 
The brightest of the stars. 

But oh, this worldly fued 
Has even Mars subdued, 
For battleships and tars 
And guns on motor cars 
And Zeppelins amid the stars, 
Are staffs on which they lean. 

Still in thoughts of erstwhile days, 

When royal pageantry displays, 

Soldiers gambol on the green 

With regal splendor to the scene, 

Rythmatic feet of every line 

Is lyric verse in marshal rhyme. 

The sounds of distant guns a poet's lyre. 

He grasps not at the pen but draws the sword 

And shouts, take aim and fire. 



190 POEMS AND PLAYS 

These words he's often dreamt, in conquest sung 
A command so old and yet 'tis always young. 

They all indulged their great desire, 

The opus magnum of their ire, 

And by it imperial power flung 

Into the balance with crown had hung, 

That was a pool of Nations, 

And this the Congress of the rations, 

A Pentecost of different tongue, 

But of the same relations. 

Warring sages gain no lore 
What they have done was done before 
The spoils that's left the Kings divide, 
Except the goods the gods provide. 

And the banquet cover's laid 

The prince, the princess and blushing maid, 

Feast at the table that should be round — 

The table that King Arthur found — 

To be the board that equals all, 

The weak, the strong, the short, the tall. 

Now let the music sound 

For Bacchus he is on the ground. 

He always comes to Orpheus' call, 

And Daphne will bring a wreath to fall 

On heroes' brows, that heals if wound. 

And Venus, Goddess surely she, 

With Phoebus attend at this soiree, 

With nuptial bands to bind the nations free. 

But now the night is fastly passing, 
Still they are drinking, gassing, gassing. 
And many the hand with glass a-quiver — 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 191 

The hand that once made millions shiver — 
Is fighting battles o'er recounting, 
Thinking on his palfrey mounting — 
Viewing trench or fording river — 
Slaying, charging armies routing ; 
Though in fact he's only lighting 
His cigar and Bacchus fighting. 
With song and woman sweet and tender 
With all his valor must surrender. 

Now banquet o'er and ended, 

The dove is gone that had descended, 

The bird whose soul with God is blended. 

Peace and love the mystic dove its mission tended 

Had left when calmed the field of slaughter. 

The earth, a habit Mars had taught her 

That shedding blood was not a pleasure 

But this the last its greatest treasure. 

Peace! Oh, Peace! now so renowned, 
You cast your eye o'er nations eleven 
Vicegerent of the olive crown, 
Though millions have been sent to heaven, 
You've brought a blessing down. 

A TOAST TO MEN 

Men of honor, men of lore, 
Men who woman most adore, 
Men that woman's wants may see, 
Men of knightly gallantry. 

You, I know, are of this class, 
Rise with me and drain the glass, 
This toast I only hope it may, 
Inspire an ancient chivalry. 



192 POEMS AND PLAYS 

HOW ENGLAND GOT HER NAME 

Note. — Several centuries after Christ, a young Angle 
and Saxon were taken to Rome to be sold as slaves. Pope 
Gregory, on going through the market-place, spied two 
handsome boys and stopped and made inquiry as to 
their home and who they were. He was told that the 
one who was so white and prepossessing was an Angel 
from the North. The Holy Father was at once overcome 
with the name of his race as well as his redeeming per- 
sonality. He said, "His name is truly significant of his 
reality." He was so impressed he sent St. Augustine 
with others to proselyte in their country. And they 
called the country Angeland, which has since been per- 
verted to England. 

England in early times was called Albion on account 
of its white shores. This was not the great St, Augus- 
tine of Hypo who wrote "The City of God." 

Of the Albion coast in chorus sing, 
From where our fathers came. 

Accentuate "God Save the King !" 
Let swell its heavenly name. 

In New Jerusalem the Pope 

Saw in the market-place, 
A boy who gave the Father hope, 

Just by his Albion face. 

He asked, "Where does he live — his home?" 
To heaven he looks and prays; 

"He is an Angel brought to Rome." 
His name his race conveys. 

To the northern clime he sent away 

A christianizing band, 
To save their souls, and on that day 

He named it Angeland. 



BY E. L. G H A P I N, M. D. 193 

This island nation of the sea, 

The grandest of the grand, 
No land of angels claim do we, 

Just sons of Angeland. 

WAITING 

I am waiting, still I'm waiting; 

By hopes and by promises fed. 
My love will turn into hating, 

My heart will turn gray with my head. 

Fortune always comes to the waiting — 
At least it has always been said, 

That true love is heavenly mating, 
Tho' often must wait till we're dead. 

Then why should I keep on debating, 
For a book can't be known till it's read? 

If of love it's not worth its relating, 
Unless straight from the heart's blood it bled. 

MOUNT OLYMPUS 

Note. — While visiting Greece I ascended a lofty peak 
of the Olympian mountains, which are held sacred by 
the Greeks. I think it is well that they worship them 
in such grandeur and seraphic magnanimity, for one 
who is inspired by the environments of God's master- 
pieces of nature, visiting this sequestered realm of soli- 
tude, and reading autographs inscribed ages and ages 
ago on the sands of its placid brow, should pause for a 
moment, where oblivion is so mute and still that one 
senses a deafening sound of utter nothingness, and can 
feel the intrusive yet welcome ego of a million human 
souls, rustling and clamoring about him with their vola- 



194 POEMS AND PLAYS 

tile pinions, seemingly each and all trying to make 
known their identity, and some heavenly enfoldment. 
This I am compelled to say will expand the calibre of 
conscience and invite a state of superlative delectation. 

Mansuetude, supernal zephyrs, the abode of nothingness ! 

You surmount the welkin peak ; 

A saturnian grave surrounds a saxtile home. 

No sylph, no nymph, no satyr ever rove, 

Or Bacchante's sons with vintage limbs e'er roamed, 

Through spheres abstract, though in this concrete world, 

By ordination man can enter there. 

But not cognizant of loquacity, 

With deafening exhortation the voice of air, 

Speaks mum as melted death's vivacity. 

The scene is shrouded in angel's uniform, 

Incensed by lamps of Heaven, 

And painted by the orbs of destiny. 

And here the Sabbath days are seven. 

The past scenes still must come, 

The present yesterday. 

And here is proof of God, and of but one. 

An avalanche of souls invade your ken, 

With rustic robes, diaphanous and cool, 

You feel the superlative assemblement of men, 

Around and in a challenged concordant duel. 

A rustic swain, in ages past, 

Perhaps before the Pleiades got their name, 

Within the dust his name and date he cast, 

This silent proof of quietude, the same 

As then it was it always will remain. 

No seismic shock or shower or breeze erase, 

Or mar or warp this placid, dreamy goal, 

The Godhead ceded to essence of the race, 

On earth a part of Heavan for the soul. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 195 

ODE TO HELOISE 
Fair as the noonday light of God's eternal sun, 

And clear in mind as the lucid air at sea, 
A Venus-Uranus — incarnate she was one. 

She — the example of undying fidelity. 

She waved the moral code a celestial behest, 

To congrue with the supernal thought 
And seek a couch for rest, 

And receive life's grist of love — long sought. 

She gave to Abelard her hand, her heart, her soul ; 

To her he was a God that never ceased in tone. 
He received with mortal grace this Virgin's innate toll, 

She gave all woman has, but not all woman's own. 

She pledged this valued Jewel with her unsullied name, 
To one Avhose office was ordained by Heaven ; 

Tho' celibates they fortified their shame 

With prayers and love and good that God has given. 

One hour with him was worth Earth's greatest treasure, 
And more — even the promise of the immortal bourne; 

To her there was no standard rule or measure — 
He was the light of a never ending morn. 

Love's fragile chains the welded links are broken, 
Not by fate alone but by that duty's voice 

That called away — but left love's greatest token, 
Blessed by a child — still not her willing choice. 

Immured within a convent she is musing, 

Her mind is recreant to her saddened heart; 

Writing to Abelard — with tears and ink diffusing — 
Telling of life's mockery, with him apart. 

The wounded breast upheaves while she is writing 
Words that from our midst can never fade ; 



196 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Words that scorn and gossip failed in blighting ; 
Words that show that true love has not decayed. 

Sequestered from all the world in silent sorrow, 
Amid the solemn gloom of marble halls, 

She thinks of hours passed — of Heaven's tomorrow, 
And then for Mary's intercession calls. 

To propitiate the Deity she'll suffer 

At times ; though mitigates her sorrow by the love 
She sends in missives to her austere lover; 

Inspirations from the mystic dove. 

She tells him that for him her heart is bleeding; 

Her only pleasure is nocturnal dreams, 
And on past moments when she is refeeding 

On lights extinguished except their seismic beams. 

Not oft is sublime love so interwoven 

In another's soul of celestial choice, 
As it was in Abelard's betrothal — 

God bless affection's Goddess, sweet Heloise. 

THANKSGIVING DAY 

O, Lord of Hosts, receive our sincere thanks, 

Accept our proffered spirit currency, 
From out our mental banks, 

Of annual treasured gratuity. 
Thanks ! Thanks to Thee, O Lord, 

Since we've found favor in thy sight, 
Thanks ! The medium of your gracious horde 

We tender Thee in prayer this day and night. 
Thanks ! Thanks ! How simple is the word ! 

May it convey today to God in part 
His pay, when given thanks are heard ! 

Will bless his heart. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 197 

DUAL SIGNIFICANCE OF GEMS AND FLOWERS 

If born in January — Garnet may wear 

Virgin's bower corresponds with Snow Drop for hair. 

February is Amethyst, amiable and pure, 

Jassimine and Olive Branch for the peaceful and demure. 

March the Bloodstone, courageous and sapient Mars, 

Thyme and Queen's Plant in chaplet for field-battling 

stars. 
April wear diamonds, affectionate and true, 
Honeysuckle and Bittersweet add sweet Violets blue. 
May is Emerald, conjugal love lasting true and long, 
The Linden Branch, Sage or Lungwart, 
And Oats for living song. 
June wears Agate for health and wealth, 
And Life devoid of woe. 

Orange Blossoms and Myrtle festooned with Mistletoe. 
July for Rubies, friendship and truthfulness, 
O sweetest of the gems! 
Ashberry and Ambrosia and Forgetmenots, 
With plucked or broken stems. 
August wear Sardonyx, domestic felicity so sweet, 
Flax, Collinsonia and Pink Dittany of Crete. 
September's Sapphire 'tis joy this heavenly stone. 
With Passion Flower ; with Colt's Foot and 
Hawthorne to build the home. 

October wear Opal, hope and confidence thru care, 
Gentian, Red Columbine and Fern of maidenhair. 
November is Topaz, faith, honor, and good cheer, 
Satin Flower, Malope, Euterpe and Mouse Ear. 
December wear Turquoise ; love prospers and grows, 
Amaranth Globe, and Heartsease Laberzmm and Red 

Rose, 
There's flowers still that please the glad, 
And give the weary hope. 



198 POEMS AND PLAYS 

White Hyacinth and Eglantine, Hjdrangia and Helio- 
trope, 

Rosemary for Remembrance and Laurel for the grand, 

The Bridal Rose for happy love, the Palm for every land. 

Evanescent are the sparkling gems; the plants have 
latent powers, 

We sense expression from their grace, the language of 
the flowers. 

PLEASURE ABROAD 

W^e must borrow the thoughts of the landscape, 
And imagine the pleasure to come, 

And be cheered by the brotherly handshake, 
For away is the light-giving sun. 

In thought even fiction is pleasure, 

Imagining mirth is a dream ; 
Of opulent joy at your leisure — 

Sensually acting its theme. 

The world's only real to the senses, 

And when they are taken away, 
We must live in the other tenses, 

For without them all is clay. 

ELIJAH'S ASCENSION 

The welkin air was strangely lit, 

The steed was fire and so was chariot ; 

As he departs on his seraphic tour, 

His mantle falls on Elisha, good and pure. 

He now ascends as would a fiery wave, 

He needs no bier, no sermon or no grave, 

Or slab to mark remembrance of thy perennial name, 

To he who won so much prophetic fame. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 199 

THE DOCTOR 

(Written by Anna Fries Chapin, after looking at the sad 
picture called by that name. ) 
Baby is dying, 
Mother is crying, 
Father is sighing, 
Doctor applying — 
Studying, trying — 
To save a young life. 

Though baby is going, 

The doctor well knowing 

There isn't a showing. 

The fever a-growing, 

Though tears they are flowing 

From husband and wife. 

The picture is saddening, 
'Tis more, 'tis maddening 
To take what is gladdening, 
And leave them a-straggling, 
And through life a-paddling 
For nothing but strife. 



PROCRASTINATION 

At the death of day we all should pray, 
Time we should never borrow ; 

Today we own, and it alone, 
There is no sure tomorrow. 

Oft friends are sick, near unto death, 
And we should seek their sorrow ; 

Though time behooves, how oft it proves, 
With them there is no morrow. 



200 POEMS AND PLAYS 



ONE NOCTURNAL HOUR 



To love and still deceive me, 

0, darling, how you grieve me, 
When you leave me ! 

Your heart to me did render, 
The purest of the gender, 
Now to another tender. 

You cut me in the seedling, 
And leave the wound a-bleeding, 
How vain is pleading! 

How short the time I knew you, 
How lovely to pursue you. 
Now, you don't love me — do you? 

You pledged your greatest treasure, 
A moment's lustful pleasure. 
By this I measure. 

I measured my rival's jewel, 

1, the stoker and the fuel, 
Of your affections dual. 

You blighted all my future, 
You stitched, then cut the suture. 
I end Napoleon, not a Blucher. 

How could you love so kindly, 
And do it so refinedly, 
Then leave me blindly? 

1 tied the noose that hung me, 

By the cord I willed you strung me, 

'Twas this that flungr me. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 201 

My sweet garment seemed to fit you, 
But by kissing hard I bit you, 
And for it must remit you. 

Ah, he who curried favor, 
And won — will he enslave her, 
And deprave her? 

Since I caught and could not hold her, 
Had the clay, yet could not mould her, 
This I told her. 

Of golden grain you were the flour, 
I've tasted — still I will devour, 
In thoughts of one nocturnal hour. 

THE HOLY SPIRIT 

O, Holy Spirit, blessed be Thy name ! 
For Truth and Jesus are as one the same. 
We sin and sin again against his will, 
Yet he forgives and remains our Savior still. 
Love his sceptre, Truth his mighty sword, 
Such are the arms of conquest to the Lord. 
Two natures of Godly essence in the one, 
The Logos or Word, the mission of the Son. 

FRAGMENT 

For forty-one years I have sailed 

The turbulent River of Time; 
Unheeding I cruised while I bailed 

My fragile craft of its slime. 
My conscience my compass to steer, 

Through the narrow channel of sin ; 
The mentor of heaven I would fear, 

This kept me above and within. 



202 POEMS AND PLAYS 

THE AIR 

Air, the breath of God — the immortal atom, 

Life's flying fluid above, Earth's solid stratum, 

Omnipresent! It's home in every by and way, 

This element of space — the guest of vacancy. 

Its pinions soar North, South, both East and West, 

In salient badinage; in its capricious jest, 

Is oft the agent of mortal fates decree; 

Has blown bliss to you, and sorrow unto me. 

It has no route destined, it detours upon its way, 

It never comes too late, or too long does it ever stay. 

It comes from where it goes; it goes from whence it 

comes ; 
It whistles as it rolls, as the brook warbles as it runs. 
It plays on meadow green, and to the valley seek, 
It fans the forest leaf, and kisses mountain peak. 
It is the wireless wire for the art of mortal mind, 
The sound, the art of will, their messenger, the wind. 
It feeds the lungs of man, with oxygen imbue 
The life of beast and bird, as well as flowers too. 
Its volatile wings support the vehicles of the sky, 
Upon its welcome breast the aeroplane may fly ; 
It carries in its jest perfume for every flower. 
Its fragile, soft and weak, and still an o'erwhelming 

power. 
Within its lambent mein, aroused it may destroy, 
Uproot the herbage of the field, and life of man annoy. 
The monsoons of the East, that sailors avoid and fear, 
With fright before its wake, and destruction in its rear. 
Its power is infinite with grace, it is so keen. 
A brother of the electric current, still either cannot be 

seen. 
Though lucid, clear and clean, it commingles in its wake, 
Polluted by dioxygen that will asphyxiate. 
Of wants compound on earth, to all an equal strife, 
If there is one thing's free — 'tis this the breath of life. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 203 

A NEWS BOY 

"Take that, and that, — you little brat! 
Go on, you monkey-face. 
Your dirty skin — you Irish Pat, 
And goblin of the race ! 

"Go on — go on ! No talking back ; 
Go sell your papers, kid. 
You fool — your head is like a tack, 
Go on ! Here, take your lid. 

"Your face is dirty as the ground, 

Your clothes are patched and rags, 
They look as though they had been found 
Or made of gunnybags. 

"Go on ! Go on, and shed those clothes, 
No talking back to me; 
Go wash that face and freckled nose, 
And look as I do — see !" 

"Say, Mr. Man, you're strong, just now, 
And I am a child, you see; 
But times goes on — you must allow. 
You will not always be. 

"There is a man — a great big man, 
He rules the lands and seas; 
Though you to-day are strong, he can 
Whip you — by disease. 

"I know my clothes are old and worn, 
But what am I to do? 
My mamma died when I was born, 
And so did papa, too. 

"Now, I must live just as I do, 
Better, I have never seen ; 



204 POEMS AND PLAYS 

I know my face is dirty, too, 
Although my heart is clean. 



" 'Twill not be long, for God is true, 
When I can wash my face; 
It will be clean — my clothes be new, 
All by the Savior's grace. 

"But you, in man's estate and prime, 

You must be washed as well ; 
Your soul cleansed in another clime, 
Your sullied heart in hell. 

"My coat is ragged, that is true, 
But clothes won't cover sin; 
What matters if they're old or new, 
To eyes that look within? 

"And when the day we're judged has come, 
I hope I'll be your peer, 
And I can do as you have done 
To me on earth, and here. 

"I'll say, 'Go on, you fool — you fool ! 
Go wash your sins away, 
Take off those ragged clothes, you mule, 
Bags of iniquity." 



u y 



Twill be too late, you cannot cleanse, 

Or shed your evil there, 
But a dirty face or rags will rinse 
On earth, or anywhere." 

He bows his head with a moment's thought 

Of the words that were a coal 
Of fire that melted in and wrought 

A changed, more tender soul. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 205 

"My boy, you've taught, in me you filed 
Away what no one can, 
That a dirty face don't make the child, 
Or clothes don't make the man. 

"Here, take my hand, my noble boy, 

You're the best I've ever found; 

'Tis stuff like you — just such alloy, 

That makes the world go 'round. 

"My God ! My boy, come to by breast, 
I'll love you till I die; 
Though but a child, you'll stand the test — 
You're a bigger man than I." 

THE PENULTIMATE 

Absent friends of former years, 

Broken links in family chains, 
Time that's past old age endears, 

And hope of heaven alone remains. 

Age forces nearer to the realm, 
The Ravens vanquish to the lee; 

The dove of peace is at the helm, 
To guide and set forever free 

The Soul from out this mortal clay. 
And one perhaps who's taught to fear, 

And never stand within his way ; 

The shining path back in the rear, 
May pay the tithings far ahead, 

In what we'll call a family pose, 
Each one and all this way has led, 

Will be a petal to the rose, 
And the last leaf of the family flower, 

Will complete the heavenly bower. 



206 POEMS AND PLAYS 

TAKE ME, O LOVE, WON'T YOU TAKE ME? 

Oh ! take me out of this prison, 

Take me, oh ! take me away. 
You are my sunlight that's risen, 

Take me, oh ! don't let me stay. 

Take me, oh! where what care I? 

What does it matter to me, 
So I am away and where I 

Can live life loving but thee? 

From the cell of freedom please take me, 
The bars of my prison are care ; 

To the bleakest of deserts please take me, 
Or go and I'll follow you there. 

I appeal to your love — woman, take me, 
For love never leadeth astray. 

Though only a dream, why awake me? 
Take me, please take me away. 

May I fall in your arms? Oh, embrace me, 
As the Sabian women were stole; 

Reverse the purloined — then you kiss me. 
Take me in body and soul. 

In suppliant posture I ask you, 
I invoke heaven's aid as I pray, 

To inspire you with faith that I love you, 
And by you be taken away. 

Take me away unto heaven, 

For heaven on earth 'neath the sun, 

For love is the first of the seven, 
The seven are all in the one. 

If you take me to love, God will bless you, 
For God is of light and love, 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 207 

For like goes to like, he'll address you, 
He will come as before in a dove. 

So take me ! Oh ! take me ! Oh ! take me ! 

That I may be yours and be thine; 
If you love me you will not forsake me, 

If you take me 'twill make me divine. 



HEAVEN SELF-MADE 

I have sailed the Kiver of Styx, 

I have lived on Utopian soil, 
I have received both poundings and kicks, 

My turbulent life has had oil. 

I have mingled with plebian and low, 

I have walked with the Euphatride, 
Experience has taught me to know, 
That mirth is in neither alloyed. 

In oblivion's realm I have found, 
Beyond the shade of the shade, 

A world — a heaven not round, 
Though one that is self-made. 



FRAGMENT 

The earth revolves majestically in light, 

Which is its daily bath of solar ray. 
God took compassion on our shaded night, 

And made its somber hue a lunar day. 
There is no North, no South, no East or West, 

No up or down, or Time's temporial sway ; 
'Tis one vast endless hoop and selfly blessed 

By truth that can't decay. 



208 POEMS AND PLAYS 

I'M GOING BLIND 
My vision's fleeting, fleeting fast ; 

I'll survey the home once more. 
This look perhaps will be the last, 

Of what I most adore. 
The chamber in this old brick home 

Will only be in mind ; 
Where light upon my eyes first shown 

Now I'm going blind. 

At best the world is none too bright 

When we all its beauty see. 
But now an everlasting night 

'Tis changed, ah ! bitterly. 
I yet must smell the flowers that bloom, 

The birds will sing as kind, 
But this is all — all else assume, 

For I'm going blind. 

Once more I'll look on mother's face, 

On sister's loving brow, 
From this time on my mind must trace 

What eyes will not allow. 
I still will hear her read to me, 

And sister sing so kind, 
But their sweet faces never see, 

For I'm going blind. 

But this long look is the saddest one 

On her I love the best; 
Weak words can't tell what this has done, 

The world must feel the rest. 
My friend, my counselor, guide and wife, 

Since darkness I am assigned, 
I can only say you're my only life, 

Now I'm going blind. 



BY E. L. G H A P I N, M. D. 209 

But God knows best for you and me, 

So on Him will rely, 
"Thy will be done," thus let it be, 

He knows the reason why. 
If I may take one look at heaven 

To fate I'll be resigned. 
'Twill be worth all if this is given, 

Though I'm going blind. 



TIME, THE THIEF 

Of all the thieves of this great sphere 

Who steal both day and night, 
Who gives us gems and jewels dear, 

Then takes them from our sight, 
He is the greatest known to man, 

He's bold and furtive, too. 
He steals even children when he can, 

And the old he's sure to do. 
First he whitens up our hair, 

Then he steals apart 
The next the teeth and eyes impair, 

And then they both depart. 
He wrinkles up the human brow, 

The stroke is weak and slow. 
In tremors to the earth we bow 

As to childish dotage grow. 
He's omnipresent and always armed, 

Capricious is his will ; 
The wicked is often left unharmed, 

The good with malice kill. 



210 POEMS AND PLAYS 

THE SUICIDE 

Death's a refuge for the soul, 

Death's a quarter the weary seek; 

Wheu we volunteer the toll, 

When by care we're rendered weak. 

When our hopes are vanished far, 
When life itself's a living pain, 

Then we swing the gates ajar, 

And return from whence we came. 

Though the walls of life immure, 
To serve a penal term on earth, 

A term that some cannot endure, 
A term of sorrow exempt of mirth. 

Brotherhood seems void and null, 
Umbrage shadows fortune's din, 

On life's sea still floats the hull, 
Without the spirit force within. 

Even the singing birds above, 
And the flowers near his trail, 

And the vapid boonly love, 

And the meadow, hill and dale, 

Have alike allied to quench 

The thirst for suffering life so sweet. 

It only gives a tightening wrench 
To the covering of the pail, 

The hour has come, he will defeat, 
He will assault, he will assail, 

The plans of God that are complete. 

He'll cross himself with thorns and nail, 

He looks into the distant sky, 
For in its realms a place for me, 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 211 

And in its midst, Oh, by and by, 
I hope to live more happily. 

He takes the fatal dose to die, 
And sheds a tear upon the sod ; 

He gives a last, long mournful sigh, 
And leaves the rest to God. 

FOR ANNA'S GRAVE 

Step softly, 'tis there we laid her away 

When she did what the world called her duty. 

O'er this clay let us pray, 

For the worst we can say, 

She's the symbol of love and of beauty. 

Hark ! Hark ! Can you hear 'neath the sod and the bier, 

The bells in the lily-seed ringing, 
As they blossom from their mound, 
They expression have found. 

'Tis the anthem "Resurrection" they're singing. 

And the aroma of these flowers is the death of her love, 
And it circles on and on where it towers, 

Above the fair earth, 

Where she's gained second birth, 

In a world without death, pain or hours. 

FRAGMENT 

Tell me, sweet maiden, 

Tell me thy mind. 
Tell me if Ladden 

Won't you be kind? 
And tell me you love me 

Of all men the best, 
Tell me, O, darling, 

And then I can rest. 



212 POEMS AND PLAYS 

THE BLESSED HOST 

When the blessed host is on our tongue, 
With contrite heart should be, 

All evil from our body wrung, 
And all duplicity. 

Have faith and to the highest cope, 
The Sacrament is but Thee, 

Eat of the flesh eternal hope, 
God's greatest charity. 

And by thy grace we have been taught, 
We're both the Son of Man, 

We even greater things may wrought, 
Than He, Christ says we can. 

Jesus died for us, and now, 
His sufferings — no one knows, 

Though thorns were on that placid brow, 
There are thorns on every rose. 

When Jesus lived, he lived for men, 
And died for us and thine, 

In flesh and soul he labored then, 
Both Human and Divine. 

He gave the Holy Tree as ours, 
On its fruits we may rely, 

Inhale the incense of its flowers, 
And the soul will never die. 

Oh, Death ! I have no fear of thee, 
God's blessing I can sing; 

"Oh, Grave, where is thy victory? 
Oh, Death, where is thy sting!" 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 213 

AN HOUR AT EDISON'S BIRTHPLACE 

It was Providence that willed a dreamy hour, 
One day in June when Milan was in flower ; 
Myself and loving wife, a-strolling near, 
Sensed music's strains, so restful to the ear. 

Like needles we were drawn to this spot, 
The "Loadstone" music and a house and lot; 
The home that sheltered genius at its birth, 
That grew to make wax sing and lit the earth. 

The wizard's sister bade us enter near the thrills, 
And drink the strains, and gaze upon the hills 
That will give old Erie fame on history's page, 
The record we heard there, the wonder of the age. 

The phonograph that does with heaven acquaint 
The soul with music's muse, its patron saint 
In ornate grandeur crowned with maple trees, 
Their pendant branches bowing to the breeze. 

As if to sanction every measure tuned 
With humming bees and with the air perfumed, 
What knave or king enthroned in such a sphere 
But what it would impel a willing tear. 

That inspiring hour so brief cuts short my theme 
Like light from heaven, that casts its radiant beam 
Through window panes that fail to obstruct its glow 
Has shown through Him, who taught the world to 

know, 
That the human voice can sing, though life is done, 
As at this home — birthplace of Edison. 



214 POEMS AND PLAYS 

LOVE THE ESSENCE OF LIFE 

Love's the essence of life, 
The volatile oil of the race. 

Its the nimbus o'er husband and wife, 
The crown of maternity's grace. 

Love can't be seen with the eye. 

Still metaphysicians agree, 
That the cause of a tear and a sigh, 

Is the effect, not the cause, that we see. 

Like the oar we dip in the stream, 
Is Love as illusory as this? 

To the vision 'tis bent, it will seem, 
When submerged in its watery kiss. 

For the oar is not bent by the stream, 
Nor the stream neither bent by the oar ; 

It's our reason that's bent by the scene, 
A problem to baffle our lore. 

We cannot dissemble in love, 
For only with self will it blend, 

As a circuit like all from above ; 
It has no beginning nor end. # 

If not false, 'tis true. That it was, 
If it was, it is true that it's false. 

The honey's of the bee — not the buzz, 
The step's in the time — not the waltz. 

Space is void and all is of space, 
As the essence of love everywhere. 

Sporadic planets inhabit a place, 
Though occupied, still it is there. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 215 

As the heart that is tuned with a heart 
And a third tries to tone to the key. 

Though the one gains the pitch from the start, 
It drowns the sweet cadence of three. 

So Love is the essence of life, 

And Life is the essence of Love. 
It's peace to the family and fife, 

'Tis the branch, the beak and the dove. 



OUT OF BONDAGE 

Of late I feel the way to freedom, 

Though I have had the backward push. 

In my breast your flaming wisdom 
Is to me the "burning bush." 

I know you'll help me on my journey, 

As you did that noble band 
In their darkest hours of travel 

To the Holy Promised Land. 

Out of fetters, out of bondage, 
Out of darkness, out of gloom, 

Into wisdom, light and freedom, 
From this dying, deathless tomb. 

In the desert I'm surrounded 
By a cloud, an Egypt's night. 

Ere I'd go it traveled with me 
In the rear, left, front and right. 

Now that somber pillar's lifted, 

I reflect upon my trail. 
And see the wisdom of his method 

And the object of his jail. 



216 POEMS AND PLAYS 

When I reached the sea, like Moses, 
The waters parted as with him. 

Must I drink this cup so bitter, 
Eunning over at the brim? 

'Twas to me a blessed compulsion, 

Though death by drowning I did fear. 

With open gates to heaven before me 
And destruction in the rear. 

Here he gave me strength in crossing 
To the holy, promised side. 

The weapon I so feared was saved by, 
To the enemy he applied. 

Now Fm in the land of refuge, 

I must glorify thy name. 
Those oppressed by darkest bondage, 

'Tisn't he; it's thyself to blame. 



A PARADOX 

Ofttimes we build upon a future hour ! 

How opulent the coming pleasure seems ! 
Though time arrives with but a faded flower, 

The somber mantle falls and blights our dreams. 

Pleasure oft is but a paradox, 

The bushel covers o'er its wanted leal ; 

Our craft seems doomed to founder on the rocks, 
But glides in placid, seas free, mast and keel. 

And when we build on mirth that is to come, 
And think of bliss those moments will reveal, 

The happy thoughts of future bliss to one 
Are many times much sweeter than the real. 



BY H. L. G H A P I N, M. D. 217 

THE CESTUS 
The gown she wore embellished innate grace; 
It covered much to leave mind's eye to trace. 
Her extended charms let idle fancy form 
The rest that's from the wanton vision shorn. 

Still, when exposed, fancy's overfed, 
Reason's altered — astray the will is led. 
The subjective mind must feast as well as feed 
To inspire illusions and follow in the lead. 

Diaphanous Cestus or a skirt's excuse, 
For protection from the cold it's of no use. 
Its fragile texture — still its clinging folds 
Suggest perfection, as in grace it molds 
The lower torso — thighs and hips unseen — 
And gives birth to passion. It alone can wean. 

Its frail support lends grandeur should it fall, 
Suspense impending, and be revealing all, 
Enchants the mind, that the thoughts may think, 
And from passion's fountainhead its fill may drink. 

There's much on earth that's elusive to the will ; 
Cause and effect oft clog the reasoning mill. 
For sugar's sweet when in the mouth 'tis placed ; 
Substance, cause; but the effect is taste. 
Philosophic facts will the mind decoy, 
Except when metaphysics we employ, 
To help us on and over problems wide, 
The mystic bridge that spans the Great Divide. 

A rustling skirt in its own language talks, 

When by the other sex she friskly walks; 

Nor is it silk alone his passions jolt — 

If so, most men to love would buy a bolt. 

For as the Cestus — and rustling sounds they make, 



I . 



218 POEMS AND PLAYS 

To fan the latent spark to flame awake. 

What we can't sense we've recourse then to seem, 

For Life itself, perhaps, is but a dream. 

The glory of the goal's not in the goal, 

But the glamor on the way the inspired the soul. 

TEARS 

The tear that dampens every cheek 

Is not a pleasing lotion ; 
By the strongest heart, as well as weak, 

Will manifest emotion. 
But the tear that's heralded in song 

Is the essence of deception, 
? Tis used to further what is wrong, 

To prove a false affection. 
But when man's heart is truly broke, 

The proofs not teary rivers, 
But by an act he can not cloak, 

The lips in tremor quivers. 
Then rise to heaven as honor does, 

For truth can never die, 
Though persecuted on the cross, 

'Tis worshipped in the sky. 

A FAILURE 

The ramparts of sin have o'ershadowed my fame 
And eclipsed the light of my heaven ! 

I took the broad road instead of the lane, 
And would not be led or be driven. 

Now I audit my assets of merit, and find 
To salvage the hull would be nil. 

The natural cargo of muscle and mind 
Has been wrecked — a derelict at will ! 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 219 



THE HOD CARRIER 

Story on story buildings arise, 

In short a city greets thine eyes. 

'Twas brain that drew the many plans, 

No laboring thought ; 'twas brawny hands — 

The hands of men whose backs were bent 

By loads they carried, and hearts were rent 

By voices cruel, calling shrill : 

"More mud ! more brick ! or I will kill !" 

That fool ! the mistake of the living God 

Who was born a slave and to carry the hod ! 



He mounts the scaffold with his muddy charge — 

His wages small — his family large. 

As he reaches the top and dumps his brick, 

An oath is forthcoming : "My God ! you're quick ! 

Say, man, who made you, and all your class? 

You hunchback nigger! You lazy ass! 

Your presence pollutes e'en the mud you carry ! 

Go on, you fool ! Don't wait or tarry, 

Or I'll knock you from the wall to the sod." 

And this is the life of the slave to the hod ! 

"Say, man, I am black ! And I know I'm a fool ! 
Though I have been taught on earth, there is a rule 
In hell when I meet you this I'll pursue : 
'Do unto others as they unto you/ 
When I carry the firebrick and mortar to make 
The oven for souls of your stamp to bake, 
You'll ask me for water for your hellish thirst! 
You may ask a nigger, even the one you have cursed ! 
For our hearts are one color then and before God, 
Even I, the black hunchback that carried the hod !" 



220 POEMS AND PLAYS 

NAPOLEON'S GLORY 

In seeking mirth from glory's crown 
In seeking crowns from glory's mirth 

Such play their part as does a clown 
To amuse the circus of the earth. 

Still, heroes say I have not fought ! 
Have I not conquered, killed and wrought? 
Have I not vanquished on the plain 
And built the ships that rule the main? 

Have I not grown from child as you, 
And done what others failed to do? 
The frugal youth by self alone 
I built an empire and a throne! 

Crowns of kings to me were toys. 

Many Helens, many Troys, 

I melted into one to call 

It empire's crown, to crown them all ! 

And when I reached the highest peak, 

What could I find? Where should I seek? 

Though on a mountain's top, where light 

Shines first in morning — last at night ; 

Though still a crater 'neath my feet — 

Seismic rumbles, imprisoned heat — 

Was threatening me, my throne and realm. 

For Death, the tiller at the helm, 

Was all my mind's keen ear could hear, 

An heir at death stateship to steer; 

For nothing now shall come between — 

Not even love and Josephine! 

My France! My empire made renown 

From flesh and bone, from crown to crown. 

I'll seek the hand of Maria Louise, 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 221 

And bear a King of Rome to please 

Not only self, but all the French, 

Though I charge the star that much retrench. 

My star of destiny and light, 

That faded in a single night — 

I saw it all ! but all too late ! 

A man of destiny— a king of Fate ! 

The God must know if he was there; 

He either knew, or did not care. 

With glory, riches and honored fame, 

I cared to perpetuate my name. 

Not content with all allied 

To accept the goods that Gods provide. 

Mars, the God that gave me all, 

He raised me high. I caused the fall ! 

1 knew it all — or thought I knew! 

'Twas there I met my Waterloo ! 



EXPLORED 

Achieved at last ! the North ! the great Unknown ! 
So oft was sought, as oft to disappointment prone. 
Now all the earth is ours, where may we soar? 
What clime invade, what terrestrial zone explore? 
What impetus is uoav within the sage's mind, 
Except in heavenly orbs may in the future find 
A scope for more great lore to play, 
And other spheres perhaps of equal worth survey? 
And from this search if success be blessed 
We'll know if death is life or eternal rest. 
By man we still may know though grievous sin 
That death is false, 'tis only life again. 



222 POEMS A X D PLAYS 

IN HADES 

Twice fifteen years I've been in hell — 

In hell just thirty years! 
A prison exempt of guard or cell — 

Grief exempt of tears. 

I've sailed the rivers Styx and Lethe 
And explored the gloomy cave, 

Where Charon met me with a wreath — 
That host to every knave ! 

I waded every mucky street 

And Dragon Avenue, 
With human skulls beneath my feet 

As paving stones in lieu. 

On Serpent Lane to Hydra Park 
I've been compelled to roam, 

Where I worshipped in the dungeon dark, 
Lit by a hecatomb. 

Into an abyss I was led 

Where victims on their knees 

With flaming caldrons on their heads, 
Real coriatides. 

I in this caldron was placed — 
Of course the fire was red! 

The flesh that fell, the fire replaced 
The living with the dead. 



L r^ 



So listen to these words of mine ; 

Don't do the same as I — 
Don't leave the ninety and the nine 

And on the one rely ! 

The label was of scarlet red 
Of P. & W. make. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 223 

The caution mark of bones and head 
To guard the amount you take. 

It seems what man is seeking for 

To obtund the natural sense ; 
Once tasted, always after more, 

Till the will is no defense. 



THE VOYAGE OF LIFE 

I see the port of death ahead, John, 

Where our ship must enter in ; 
Now life's voyage is at an end, John — 

Though what a pleasing voyage it's been ! 

How oft you poured love on the water — 

Oil of love to calm the sea! 
O, if we could only loiter 

In erstwhile moments — you and me! 

But I see the pilot coming; 

The flag of truce is in our hair ; 
Down the companion way we're running 

To another world somewhere. 

Earth is an isle far within the sea, 

Man is marooned upon its rocky shore ! 

What hope but heaven is there for you or me 
Except in God ! Why ask for any more? 

There is no ship to sail the celestial brine 
Except the ship of soul by God to tow, 

To pilot us, both you, myself and mine, 
Unless to sink in chaos here below! 



224 POEMS AND PLAYS 

BEAUTY'S BATTLE 

Armed cap-a-pie in her teens is she, 
Recruited for the conquest sure to be, 
Caparisoned from her debut, she starts to fight — 
Her left wing clothes ; charms in youth her right ! 

Beauty is her valor — this the world can see; 
She makes her offensive charge on society. 
Charge and counter-charge upon the peaceful foe! 
A paradox in truth, still she must learn to know. 

She conquers for a time ; then the regal scene : 
A despotic ruler fair is crowned a social queen ; 
But exposure on the field has weakened her defence. 
Sedition now at home, her scepter she must shield — 
Since war has re-commenced ! 

More formidable is this foe; 'tis not the one of old; 
Slow to charge, 'tis true, but always sure and bold. 
His arms are but a scythe, yet vulnerable is the fort. 
Capitulate she must ; in storm it's her only port. 

For when a woman's beauty fades 

She is lost, and must retreat. 
Cross, stars, and gilded braids 

Are wrinkles of defeat! 



THE LAND OF THE FIVE NEGATIVES 

The Land of Nippon has birds without song, 

Its flowers no volatile smell. 

It has blossoms without cherries, 

And lakes without fish, 

And woman without virtue as well. 



BY E. L. G E A P I N, M. D. 225 

WAE— SELF-SHADED GLARE 

If they dare war 
They have war cares 
And careworn 
From warfare 
Then why dare — War? 

War rips ! War tears ! 
Man falls, horse rears, 
Roar drowns, smoke blares, 

Woman frightens, children scares, 
Broken family home impairs 
In climbing Victory's stairs. 

Stairs that lead to pungent air 

To sow the tooth that will declare 

War in the same old Dragon's lair. 

Lions rampant, Britain's heir, 

German eagles, black in pair, 

Russia's furtive, potent bear, 

With Fleur-de-Lys of France the fair, 

Will mix in future to repair, 

Erstwhile garments they must wear, 

Until redressed in less despair, 

Or takes their conscience, king and care. 

They fought to find their glory there, 
But it is not in war — but where? 
Except in peace self-shaded glare. 

THE LION AWAKE 

Once more the lion's left his lair 
To charge, rampant — to roar and tear 
With teeth and claws in zealous rage — 
Once more old "Britty's" left his cage. 



226 POEMS AND PLAYS 

This potent beast, how subtle he ! 
He shields the lamb, if need to be ! 
All the seven seas his groans obey — 
He's monarch of all his eyes survey ! 

He's had one eye athwart the east 
To watch those raven eagles feast 
On purloined provender as their prey 
To make supreme their majesty. 

But, hark ! I hear the lion's bay ! 
He paws the ground, then leads the fray 
With panting breath and floating mail. 
Who raised the wind must ride his gale. 

He only seeks the common foe. 
The bear's his friend, and others so. 
This king of beasts with tradition's fame 
Now charging 'neath the Oriflame. 

He starts ! He's off ! They hear him roar ! 
Two sombre eagles above him soar. 
Self-vaunted valor makes them light 
To engage the center, left, flank and right. 

Krupp beaks and Mauser gafts renown, 
Flutter wings aggressive, black feathers frown, 
Relegating ethics — whelt on whelt 
They deathly charge below the belt. 

But, O! just bide awhile and see; 
The bear has one bird up a tree. 
With each ferocious lion's maul 
A ruffled eagle's feather fall. 

And when the history is finally writ, 
The greatest Avar, world's fighting pit, 
You'll read of birds that used to be — 
And the lion still king of liberty! 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 227 

PRECOCIOUS YOUTH 

The precocious youth with wisdom overflows, 
Still potent minds often weaken at the close. 
The rocket's beauty is when the powder burns; 
The glamor's o'er when stick to earth returns. 

Fast-growing trees are soft and easy broke, 
Unlike the prince of trees, the sacred oak; 
The pacing colt that breaks the record young, 
Will never break his own in time to come. 

Where there's a hill there's sure to be a vale, 

And calm succeeds and follows up the gale. 

For every action, reaction's near at hand ; 

The scales that weigh are weighed, the planer planed. 

Call it laws of compensation, if you will. 

He who really knows, knows he's to know more still. 

For infinitude has two great winds at sea ; 
So great the mind can ne'er encompass thee. 
One pinion soars remote — only God can know, 
Thoughts journey long, the speed both dull and slow. 

The life of man's too short, the brain too small, 
For twice forty years to contemplate "The All"; 
The other wing is one the eye can see, 
The extreme in size to space 'tis of the flee. 

Tho' infinite as well to mortal mind, 

The eyes abstract until the vision's blind, 

Life's cells are these and Avith other substance blends, 

Humor with life in it — and there our wisdom ends. 

So youth, precocious youth, the knowledge you have 

gained 
Was known before you lived, so it isn't you that's 

blamed. 
So if blessed with lucid mind, reinforce it as you grow, 
The first great rule to learn is how little you can know. 



228 POEMS AND PLAYS 

A WORLDLY WAR AND A WARRING WORLD 

World war! One hundred million hearts 

By it are stirred — are wrung and wrought to meet the 
hour 

Of glory — of gloom — of gladness, gilded gore imparts. 
'Tho win 'twill be the sequel of their power. 

Three Graces and a poisoned plum, 

Faith and Hope they fight to devour its fruit. 

Wise, neutral Charity to conquest seeming dumb, 
Feasts on folly, no appeal or can the Lord commute. 

In days remote, in the night of ages, men, 

Their weapons artly crude as ours is cruel art, 

They fought with Kismet — Kismet fought with them, 
As man to man must strive to crush the weak apart. 

The fittest must survive, 

Life must strive to live; 
We kill to keep alive; 

War seems to be the sieve. 

In the copse a spreading oak, 

In majestic mien it waves, 
O'er the battlefield of choke, 

Where it lives on conquered graves. 

« 

The same within the sea, 

Where valor lies in size, 
No living thing is free, 

Even birds within the skies. 

A world of war — a warring world, 
Till Armageddon will it cease, 

Then a lasting flag of truce unfurled 
By Christ, the Prince of Peace. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 229 

A DROWNING SOUL 

If I could have one hour's communion 
With you, the idol of my seeming, 

I know the sequel of the union, 

Tho' short, would always leave me dreaming. 

'Tis you I've seen far in the distance, 
Not with my eyes, but another sense ; 

I reached to touch, but no resistance 
Met the grasp that strove to clench. 

Altho' 'twas you, my fancy formed you 

In the gallery of my mind, 
Among many pictures, there I hung you, 

But to all the rest my sense was blind. 

Now I see you in the flesh, dear ! 

If I'm repulsed 'twill be a sin. 
For one kind word from those sweet lips, dear, 

And I will feel I'm born again. 

Now won't you give a single hour 

To me please grant this short reprieve; 

For 'tis only you who has the power 
To give me living love to breathe. 

And when the hour is gone I ask for, 
'Twill only be the time that's past, 

Tho' you are left both tired and task sore, 
To me that hour will ever last. 

So, love, this heart that loves another, 
When you're the one it does extol, 

If not, dear, love me as a brother, 
And save a drowning soul. 



230 POEMS AND PLAYS 

THE FATES 

The fates they wind — and then unwind 
The thread of life that serves to bind 
To cunning Eros, in his wake; 
It will not loosen, wear or break 
In the Labyrinth of Doom, 
I've walked in every hall and room 
Without a thread to guide my way 
Back to safety as in the way 
When Theseus in his Cretean tour, 
Met and killed the Minotaur, 
The Princess aided him to fame, 
Through every danger of being slain. 
Greek youth of tribute no more were fed 
To serve a king whose pleasure bred 
His nation's downfall by the blow 
That sprouted Athens on to grow. 
The Fates they guided him aright; 
It was to be, though dark or light. 

On the Stygian stream if I am lost, 
While Charon ferries me across, 
And I should float on, on beneath 
Till I reach the waters of River Lethe, 
Beyond foreboding, hellish gates, 
'Twill be the guiding of the Fates. 

But never thus the world shall know 
That I have failed in life below 
As Achilles with his Trojan kit 
Tied Hector to his chariot. 
Slaying failed to satiate. 
Ten times around, at every gate, 
He exposed his trophy as he flew, 
As Disgrace with Failure plans to do. 



BY E. L. G E A P I N, M. D. 231 

Still why should I to earth complain? 
It has not all been dross and pain ; 
At least my soul may stop and think, 
And at the purest fountains drink. 
The Fates, though strong, and Zeus too, 
And Juno, Queen of the Heavenly Blue, 
With Thor and Woden may they blast ; 
Still even they cannot change the past. 

The scales of life ; its fickle beam 
Responds for some I've often seen 
That are as empty as the air, 
Though happy, rich, devoid of care, 
Fortune seems before them rolled, 
They stumble over stones of gold. 
Perhaps it is as Scripture reads, 
The wound is deeper than it bleeds. 
The wounder's wound we can not see, 
To the third and fourth nativity. 

So maddened Ajax, why kill the sheep? 

Or Venus why o'er Adonis weep? 

For though a tusk should pierce our thigh, 

Why weep or wail, either you or I? 

For the future's God's, the past is ours ; 

Even Apollo's quoit brought tender flowers. 

If we could live forever here, 
And have the sweets of earth so dear, 
We'd better know that heavenly call, 
One moment there is worth them all. 

FRAGMENT 
If we are deprived of that which has thrived 

In the breast of both Roman and Greek, 
'Twould be better to die, for both you and I 

Than to live and be potently weak. 



232 POEMS AND PLAYS 

WHAT IS A GRAVE? 

A grave is an abode for the dead ; 

In its bosom the loved one is laid, 

With an anthem of love and supplement prayed, 

With eulogies reverently said. 

While the body is lowered in the grave, 
The eternal home of the dust ; 
Of the old, of the young, the wicked and just, 
To the prince as it is to the slave. 

Some are decked with the flower and vine, 
The biers of some are of gold; 
Some in the depths of the brine, 
Some 'neath the ice and the cold. 

Some are in granite and stone, 
Some hermetically sealed; 
Many are laid in the field 
Of the potter devoid of a home. 

The power of a king in the ground 
Is the same as a child at his side ; 
Except one a tomb was denied, 
For the other granite was found. 

Though a dome may cover the bier 

Of a prince, still sorrow is more 

In the breast of the poor in the mother that bore, 

Than it is in the dame of the peer. 

The sequel of life God has gave 

To us all in the balance has weighed, 

The debt for living is paid 

By six feet of earth — called the grave ! 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 233 

SARTORIA 
Silks and satins, frills and curls, 
Diamond brooches, ropes of pearls, 
Shoes and stockings, hats and lace, 
Paint and powder on the face ; 
As they come before our view 
We survey from hat to shoe. 
This will oft inspire a smile 
So apropos of dress and style. 
Perhaps a specimen of the race 
In deportment, form and face, 
With dreamy eyes and Grecian nose, 
With cheeks of lily and the rose; 
Her teeth like pearls laid in a row, 
And lips that form a Cupid's bow, 
With perfect fingers, 'neath a gem, 
Her tresses a golden diadem. 
In all there's nothing been denied ; 
She is perfection personified. 

Ah ! Wait ! The objective mind has seen 
The pleasing aspect of her mien ; 
But now the curtains backward roll ; 
X-ray the texture of her soul, 
The unembellished by art's attire, 
That which man should most admire. 
'Tis left ungroomed in Nature's hall, 
Although 'tis paramount of all. 
The food that's sweetest of the meal 
Does not to the most appeal; 
'Tis not the entree and staple bread 
That's often sought and seldom fed 
To the inner ego of the one, 
If she'd array and would have done. 
The currying favor to the mind, 



234 POEMS AND PLAYS 

To ostentatious dress been blind. 

The exalted garments she could wear 

That never change their style, or tear. 

And she would have both love and grace, 

In her soul and on her face. 

And still is gowned for any time, 

Ball and wedding of any clime; 

At the altar or the bier 

She neither God nor man need fear. 

But know — she strives to please the eye, 

And gowns are how, and this is why, 

The pusillanimity of the mind 

To all but feathers, seems is blind. 

Dress is the bait, and she the hook ; 

Men the fishes, the street the brook; 

And we are stung by what we see — 

Dress, the stinger of the bee. 

The honey's there in dormant pose, 

Tho' it is covered by the clothes. 

A PERFECT SOUL 

If life could be as long as space is wide, 
And you could be the tenor of its sway, 

'Twould only seem a moment if to abide, 

With you who seems is more than mortal clay. 

There's more than life in your objective grace. 

'Tis what the senses cannot comprehend, 
Not only beauty of your form and face, 

But with the two perfections in their blend. 

How empty are the words that try to praise 
The ideal in whom nature doth extoll ; 

When the lower species even on you gaze 
They seem to feel the grandeur of your soul. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 235 

WILLIE AND LIZ 

As I was sitting 'neath the willow green, 
With weeping branches waving to and fro, 

A little girl and boy approached between, 
And asked if I could tell them where to go. 

This question tendered by a little youth, 
Who needed food for something, told me so, 

I could not answer, so I thought forsooth, 
Or could a king the thing he cared to know. 

These little orphans, ragged, cold and weak, 
Looked up to me with quivering lips and said, 

"Can you tell us the place, and where to seek 
To find our Mamma and Papa who are dead?" 

As they stood near the village chapel doors, 
They overheard the preacher, as he said, 

"There is no death, their spirit only soars, 
To heaven where we see the so-called dead." 

"Ma and Papa they have gone away, 

They have gone and left me and my sister Liz. 

Do you think they have gone, and gone to stay? 
And can you tell us where this Heaven is? 

Their garments old, though innocent hearts were 
theirs, 

Their souls were clean and lucid as the day, 
Their faces drawn and pale from youthful cares, 

Their eyes were blue as heaven's canopy. 

"Will we never see our Mama more? 

Can't I and brother walk in Heaven's way? 
Will that good man called Peter, at the door, 

Let us in if we both kneel and pray? 



236 POEMS AND PLAYS 

"Once mamma read to me and Willie dear, 
'Suffer little children come unto me 

And I will give thee rest.' We need not fear, 
That Jesus loves all children, even we. 

"So will you guide us on our lonely way, 
And tell us how and where and what to do? 

Will you tell me, please — please, will you say 
Where we may find them both, and Jesus too?" 

I guided them as well as mortal can, 
And told them what the nearest path would be ; 

He started away with Liz, this little man, 
A-muttering what I'd taught his littany. 

If they go on through life, these noble twins — 
And Willie has grown up as well as Liz — 

They'll find their Ma and Pa, if neither sins, 
And they will know where Christ and Heaven is. 



THE FIRST KISS 

Thrill me ! Fill me with that passion 
That the poets want to write ! 

Grand passion from the first kiss 
That wakes love's latent sprite! 

May I lay my weary head 

On thy respiring chest? 
And as an infant there be fed 

On love that I may rest? 



BY H. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 237 

WOMAN 
Is woman worthy of sober thought, 

Of man to gauge their mystery? 
Or should we wave our musing wrought 

Back to their noble history? 

Has man — the son of man — a right 

To relegate their mothers — 
Back of legal voice and might — 

I ask it of you, brothers? 

They who bore us to the earth 

Adolescence did incumber 
Them with care, and pain of birth 

And still we crush asunder. 

In common God gave life's estate 

To Eve and all her daughters; 
In equal ratio with man their mate 

The ground, the air and waters. 

Have they with grace withheld their load 
And proved their earthly mission? 

Have they upheld the moral code 
At their own — volition. 

What was the sex that counseled war? 

Was it not life's companion 
That steered the Ship of State, and more 

The King — the Great Napoleon? 

Who wheeled the sceptre well and long 

With Justice to each human? 
Was not Victoria's life a song — 

Both England's Queen and woman? 

Who was the one who gave the pelf 
To seek the Western Nation? 



238 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Was it not Isabel herself — 

The Queen — and woman's lation? 

By whom were Jewish lives once saved 
By beauty, grace and gesture? 

Who saved the prey that Haman craved — 
Was it not she, Queen Esther? 

The Paragon of all mankind — 

With her I will complete 
This story of the species bind 

This heavenly paraclete. 

From a woman's womb came forth the son 

That to us hope has given. 
Man bless them all, as God has done 

To the Virgin Queen of Heaven. 



MY CHILD 

The great beyond, the host that's there ! 

The world so far beyond the air. 

God of ages, earth and we, 

God of all infinity ! 

All care to seek this noble one, 

His praise is sung by every tongue. 

For all we wish to fly afar 

And inhabit yonder lingering star, 

And prone we are to seek the sea, 

And dwell within its cavity. 

Perchance there once upon our knee, 

Whose loss we mourn, Ah, bitterly — 

With it — tho' heaven I recall, 

One moment would be worth them all. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 239 

HEAVEN WORTH THEM ALL 

It's nice to have a million, and several auto cars, 

And have a palace for a home, and know the home is 

ours. 
'Tis nice, yes — nice, to feel secure, and know that we can 

feed 
On choicest viands in the land, tho' thousands others 

need. 
And then to walk on ground we own as far as eye can see, 
And breathe the air, the country air — oh ! air just made 

for me. 
And in the home a family — a wife and children strong, 
That swell the accents to my heart, so overt in my song. 
And have a wife whose face and mind is all that good 

can be, 
A living Venus in her grace, rising from the sea. 
And then a son — my son — that word so dear to family 

life, 
That's more to me than all the world, except my girl and 

wife. 
My girl, my daughter, a mother's pride that favors 

mother's ways, 
A flowering bud from family's bush that makes the whole 

year Mays. 
And then to travel o'er the earth, o'er mighty seas de- 
part, 
And view God's masterpieces there, as well as mortal art. 
Old Egypt's Nile, Arcadian fields, the hunting ground 

and home, 
Of glory that was once of Greece, of grandeur once of 

Rome. 
And to the city by the sea from which old Rome was 

born, 
The child that bred another son upon the Golden Horn. 



240 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Down the strait, along the coast, don't miss a one of 

them, 
To Khodes, to Smyrna, Crete and Tyre, and old Jerusa- 
lem, 
Still on and on around the world to home and friends to 

meet you, 
Friends so eager for your grasp with tears of joy they 

greet you. 
To-night, to-morrow night, and on to banquets we are 

prancing, 
While age is feasting at the board, youth on the floor is 

dancing. 
Glass after glass with wine refilled, toast upon toast and 

laughter, 
Not thinking of the time of night, nor of the "morning 

after." 
For this is life — Life — real life! Goddess of Pleasure, 

thank her. 
We "tread the wine press" and crack the bowl, no 

thought of grief or canker. 
Ah ! yes, 'tis nice, this all is nice. Still there's something 

lacking; 
With all this feasting of the flesh, the soul keeps whack- 
ing, whacking, 
To let another pleasure in — one that has no classing, 
With earthly joy whose life is short and suffers in its 

passing, 
And that's God's shadow, the light of heaven if we stand 

beneath its fall, 
With these pleasures brief here given — the one is worth 

them all. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. B. 241 

SENILE CONFESSION 
I am old, my eyes are growing dim, 

My step is weak and slow ; 
The pain from age in every limb, 

I am growing old, I know. 

Wrinkled flesh and sallow brow, 

My hair by years are gray ; 
My teeth like pearl are false ones now, 

I do not live — I stay. 

I should not trouble you, my child, 

With all my senile care; 
But your young face, so sweet and mild, 

Brings back to me the fair. 

Come sit upon your Grandpa's knee, 

And listen while I tell 
You of the one that was to me 

Of all the world, the Belle. 

Her eyes were blue like yours, my child. 

Her tresses golden hue; 
She was so sweet with temper mild, 

In all she was like you. 

I loved her then — I love her still ; 

She is, I know not where, 
Except in Heaven. Then I will, 

I know I'll see her there. 

My child, you are to walk the path 

That I have walked so long ; 
In after years, the aftermath, 

You'll sing this same old song. 

I am growing old, my heart is sore, 

As Grandpa's was in years; 
My heart was light and gay before, 

But now, 'tis pain and tears. 



242 POEMS AND PLAYS 

I HEAR HIM CALLING ME 

I hear him calling — I hear hira calling me. 

I hear him calling — calling tenderly. 
'Tis not the voice of Savant, King or Sage, 

With accent sweet and yet peremptorily. 
'Tis Christ, the Heavenly Page that's calling me. 

At first the voice spoke low and soothingly, 
Nor did I heed as He kept calling me ; 

But took it all — but all amusingly, 
As he kept calling me, and calling me. 

At first he only called to caution me, 

"Prepare the part that's mine; prepare it willingly." 
'Twas thus he spoke, tho' now as time is killing me, 

I hear him — I hear him calling me. 
Still calling me. 

Dear God, I hope that now I know you're calling me, 

I won't be late to enter in Thy goal. 
If so, the summons reflects appallingly 

Upon my sinful soul. 
Since you, I know, it is that's calling me. 

When but a child at play, and Mother calling me, 
I answered her as now I'll answer you, 

As willingly as you on Calvary, 

Commended "Mother" and spoke to "Father" too. 

Now you're calling, calling me, 
As the Father called for you. 

Christ, Celestial Herald, soon on the way I'll be, 
To approach the realm of Heaven and of love, 

That I may know you called, though not in vain, for 
me. 
And hear the words "Well pleased," O mystic Dove! 

When you've ceased calling me, 
Ceased calling me. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 243 

THE MISSING BOON 

The missing boon, the vacant chair, 

Though gone, I see her everywhere, 

Knitting, sewing, plying thread, 

As before, though still she's dead. 

Baking, cleaning as before, 

Though I know she is no more. 

I oft peruse at evening tide, 

Thinking she is at my side, 

I read aloud that she may hear, 

Forgetting that she isn't near. 

She is gone, I only see, 

The vision of reality. 

This soul so void, thus torn from me, 

Has changed my life — ah ! bitterly ! 

I cannot live with her away, 

Now she is gone, yes, gone to stay. 

Those tresses long, those large, blue eyes, 

That rivalled the azure of the skies. 

When a soul as her's to welkin wends, 

Like a falling star when it descends, 

It grows in beauty in downward flight, 

Like she in beatific light. 

When death had paid the mundane toll, 

It made divine at the birth of soul, 

A face to me, seraphic fair, 

Though gone, I see her everywhere. 



FEAGMENT 

To live a hermit's life, 

You lose pleasures the heart should know, 
For 'tis better to burn 

In flames of weal, than to drown in tears of woe. 



244 POEMS AND PLAYS 

LOGOS 

Live partly in transcendent thoughts away, 
While on this weary trail of life we trod ; 

Eeach up and grasp your heaven — this you may 
By reading deeply of the word of God. 

Through senses five we realize this life, 

Within their realm our knowledge is corralled, 

Exalt the mind beyond this earthly strife; 
To heavenly contemplating sense impelled. 

The mortal form of walking cell for Soul, 
Cast down from heaven's abode to suffer time ; 

A spirit's death its penance dark and dole, 
Must find its life again in death and thine. 

Exiled in flesh, nor has he thus forgot 
He placed his only Son upon our sod, 

To sound the chord long lost — untied the knot 
And saved the soul through Christ, the word of 
God. 

THE FAIREST OF THE FAIR 

Those parted tresses waving to the side, 
That mantle o'er a tender mother's brow ; 

They testify all happiness denied, 

Through years that's passed this crown of beauty now. 

This silvery hair with crimps that women crave, 
Crimps the subtle hand of heaven made ; 

They will endure from cradle to the grave, 
Like virtue in her soul, 'twill never fade. 

Features form as on through life we go, 
Always commensurate with the virtue there, 

The tendrils of the soul thus feed to grow, 
The Godly features tender, true and fair. 



BYH. L. CEAP1 N, M. D. 245 

O Mother, sweet ! I plainly see her now ! 

Within the yard, within her rolling chair, 
The zephyrs breathing love upon her brow — 

That brow to me the fairest of the fair. 

What words or language can I speak? 

What noble object can I here compare? 
To one so tender, true and meek, 

To one, the fairest of the fair ! 



METAMORPHOSIS. 

Nothing is dormant 01 still on the Earth 
Though lives are a-passing death's only birth ; 
The hand of Almighty is stirring the sea ; 
He rocks both the rocker, the cradle and tree. 

With earthquakes he shatters and crumbles to dust; 
With moth and with miller, with germ and with rust; 
He dissolves all matter, the rock and the dew, 
This hand that has blighted will also renew. 

The birds in the Heavens — the bee in the flower; 
The worm in the ground, the bat in the tower ; 
The bug in the bush, the fish in the sea; 
Each play their part in this great symphony. 

The inordinate power of light from the sun, 
It will build and rebuild and undo what it's done ; 
In time by its travel and unceasing stroll ; 
What now is the Equator will then be the Pole. 

The ethereal Ego that ascends to the sky, 
Once the guest of a mortal, perhaps you or I ; 
In ages to come, by the power Divine, 
I will have your soul and you will have mine. 



2±G POEMS AND PLAYS 

OLD FATHER TIME 

The ever-reigning, mystic king of time, 

With omnipresent throne and sceptre, too, 
His busy blade he wields in every clime, 

His uncommuted sentence to me and you. 
Without repeal, respite, in vain we plead; 

He holds the life of every palm and pine ; 
Our vouchers call the years, he re-reads the deed, 

He thrusts his scythe of death, old Father Time. 

In the cabinet of God, in all this one, 

He plays the oldest part even known to man, 

For time and space are older than the sun, 
Or even the earth itself on which he planned. 

Though he is old, how fast he seems to stroll, 
And cord up years that make the aged pine. 

We pay our debts of life, he takes the toll 
Of every man and mammal, old Father Time. 



MEDITATIONS AFTER VISITING THE TOMB OF 

DAVID 

Upon the Mount the Holy City still 

Has much to offer you and always will ; 

The tomb of David stands as though in self-defense, 

It defies the hand of Time, its crown of battlements. 

The upper chamber here where Jesus broke the bread, 

The room, the holy room, where the apostles twelve were 

fed, 
The communion of the holy flesh, by the remaining 

eleven, 
For they were eating life itself, life of another zone. 
Surfeit, satiety — but not on food alone, 
Which gave eternal life with God, in Paradise or heaven. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 247 

ADIEU, SWEET LIGHT. 

Good-bye, old Saul ; Good-bye, old Sun, 

It is thy will and why — 
Not mine or yours, "Thy will be done," 

Good-bye, Good-bye, Good-bye. 

Once the World diverted me, 

From blessings that were mine, 
What was Chaos then to me 

'Tis ethereal and divine. 

God of the Kealm, what have I done, 

That Light from me is stole? 
You have taken all there is to one — 

The windows of the soul. 

You have taken light from out my ken, 

The light of mortal worth ; 
But you have replaced a spirit lens 

That sees beyond the earth. 

My hours will be but darkness now, 

My eyes can see — no, never! 
Tho' to this gloom with grace must bow, 

And say good-bye forever. 



TONIGHT 

(Written Nov. 27, 1907.) 

Tonight! Will Heaven see fit this night to bless, 
The word — the answer — Fm to give tonight — the yes? 
Tonight! Tonight! Of all nocturnal hours tonight! 
The night is dark — tho' light of love will lead me right. 
Tonight ! Tonight ! 



248 P O E M 8 AND PLAYS 

My heart — my hope — is on the word I speak tonight. 
Its sequel, life a loved and loving wight. 
Tonight and on — O, Fate! If thine will be as bright, 
As heart of mine, my path of life will be relit with light, 
Tonight! Tonight! 

Tonight my heart swells with thoughts of thee; 
I'll speak the welcome word, the answer'll be, 
A kiss. Tonight ! A kiss that binds tonight, 
The soul that is my dawn of day and light. 
Tonight ! Tonight ! 

Tonight ! Tonight ! The shaded hour of passion, 
Tonight, the night my breast has longed to feel, 

A sense unknown to me, a worldly fashion, 
When suited by its grace, there's no repeal. 

I've seen the soul that wakes my drooping spirit, 

The soul that is to come to me tonight. 
It spoke with tender eyes — I still can hear it — 
I'll come, dear heart, tonight." 



«T>1 



Tonight ! tonight ! How small the word in letters, 
But O ! to me they are my future light, 

That now may shine beneath those galling fetters, 
That shaded love in gloom until tonight. 

It comes to me by human automation, 

How keen I sense its cunning mystic stroll, 

Tonight, the scheduled hour — my heart the station, 
Will shelter love, the palace of the soul. 

It's the ego of a woman in my seeming, 
The aesthetic idol of a mortal sprite, 

That stirred my faltering soul to wakeful dreaming, 
For her that is to be my own tonight! 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 249 

GOD'S MASTERPIECE 

Coquettish spirit, modest girl, 
With cherry lips and teeth of pearl, 
Refulgent cheeks of vital glows, 
Mixed with the lily and the rose. 

With manners saintly and demure, 

'Tis sacriligious to obscure 

With clothes the flesh that's formed so true. 

Heaven's done what art could never do. 

Her crown of tresses with Nature's twist, 
In curls when by the zephyrs kissed, 
Forms grandeur which man's lived and died, 
In poet's theme in woman's pride. 

Raped by the breeze this mantle toils 
To fall upon her breast in coils, 
Which adds resplendence to her grace 
When in beauty's realm, though out of place. 

How vain are words when used to paint 
Such beauty with a lettered taint ! 
How vain is he who tries to mold 
With clay, with marble, bronze or gold ! 

How weak the crayon or limner's brush 

To paint her form, her grace, her blush ! 

In justice only may the eye 

To mind a replica supply. 

To behold gives life another lease, 

For she is God's great masterpiece. 



250 POEMS AND PLAYS 

CALVARY 

The shrine of hope, 

The mount of faith, 
The grave of our Redeemer. 

The olive branch of peace is here ; 
It whispers of tomorrow, 

It mantles o'er with dew drop tear, 
To try to screen the sorrow. 

'Twas here the immortal body left 
The earth by Jew behavior, 

'Twas here the place of skulls so cleft 
They persecute their Savior. 

'Tis here the pilgrims' journey cease, 
And mortal God must sever, 

The body from its mundane lease 
The birth of soul forever. 

THE DEVIL'S INTRIGUE 

In everv lane of life I walk, 
Through every street and alley ; 

The devil follows on to mock 
And keep me in the valley. 

Through every line of verse or prose. 
Through every mile I travel, 

Success when rife he always knows, 
He sounds his crushing gavel. 

In every venture I embark, 

Of business or intent, 
He imprints his fatal veto mark 

To blot my emolument. 

On land he follows on my trail, 

At sea his angels hover ; 
On the wave and in the gale 

He's my most devoted lover. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 251 

IMMUNE 
To all but pain I am immune! 

My senses don't respond 
To taste, to smell, or sweetest tune, 

I am no longer fond. 
To touch I am numb, I scarce can see, 

My reason's no longer keen, 
Nor can I speak with ease and free; 

My thoughts are blunt and mean. 
Nor will he wait for you or me, 

You'd think his moments spare, 
Yet lifts he out from yonder sea 

The fairest of the fair. 
This orb, the sun is never late, 

Nor is it e'er too soon ; 
He leaves no thing alone to fate, 

This vice yet virtuous boon. 
Upon his diary we may read 

The record of his past, 
On romance that the mind may feed 

As long as life may last. 
He takes away and yet he brings 

The songs of earth sublime. 
It seems we're cursed with mystic wings 

Of heartless Father Time. 

YOUTHFUL WISDOM 
Little children, meek and tender, 

Growing older every day, 
Class them in the neuter gender, 

These are only on their way. 

On their way from realm of childhood 

From bucolic idylls dream; 
In the forest and the wildwood, 

Nature is their life and theme. 



252 POEMS AND PLAYS 

They only know what God has taught them. 

The brain is widened through the eye. 
Nature's colors now enchant them, 

Like the maiden in the rye. 

She knew not till man had taught her, 
Hearing tender words it taught; 

With the sense of touch he kissed her, 
From child to womanhood it brought. 

Youth never learns that part of nature, 
Except when taught by human kind ; 

The pupil grows to be a teacher, 
And in the rye another find. 



WOMAN'S GRACE 

Please me ; squeeze me ! 
Don't you freeze me! 

You of ideal woman's grace ! 
The spirit of your form has seized me ; 

My heart, its welcome dwelling place. 
Like the breath of blooming flowers 

I've inhaled your charms so fair. 
Could you muster all your powers 

These pleasures would you from me tear. 

Woman's beauty, like the roses ; 

Viewing does not wilt her charms. 
'Tis Father Time who wilts the posies, 

'Tis always he who beauty harms. 

Fair woman of o'erwhelming beauty — 
In common she should share her grace, 

As artists feel it is their duty 

To expose their art, or in galleries place. 



BY H. L. G H A P I N, M. D. 253 

LIVING LIFE OVER 

Let me live o'er the days of my childhood 

Let my future be of the past ; 
Let me rove in the fields and the wildwood ; 

Might the hours of youth ever last. 

Let me hear the sound of the reaper; 

Let me hear the voice of but one ; 
Oh! God, why could I not keep her? 

Why did he do as he has done? 

Let me sit on the lawn by the flowers ; 

Bright orbs of heaven let me see ; 
May she ride as she rode in those hours, 

'Neath the shade of the sky and for me. 

Let me sit by the brook in its flowing ; 

Let me see each ripple and wave, 
As it glides to the sea in its glowing, 

As I glide in my years to the grave. 



TAUGHT TO DIE 

Life's gauntlet I have run, and now, 

With truth on every hand, 
I owe the word of God a bow, 

And reverently stand 
For thee, whose teachings I will give, 

A prayer for bye and bye. 
In teaching me the way to live 

Has taught me how to die. 

God in the flesh — the palm and pine — 

My spirit eyes can see. 
What I before could not define 

Is now so plain to me. 



254 POEMS AND PLAYS 

Tho' my chalice is a leaking sieve, 
I quaff the drippings dry. 

In teaching me the way to live 
Has taught me how to die. 

When I bid earth its last adieu, 

And life comes to a close, 
I'll praise the Lord this debt is due 

Before that long repose. 
I will impute to Thee who give 

The Light, the Way and Why, 
In teaching me the way to live 

Has taught me how to die. 



MY PRAYER! 

O, God, I ask for noble power, 

But not for selfish gain, 
To light the load, to sweet the sour, 

To lead the blind, to ease the lame. 

I ask, Oh, God, perhaps for gold, 
But not myself alone to feed. 

The sore afflicted in Thy fold 

Would never want if I never need. 

For wisdom too, dear Lord, I pray 
But not to vaunt because I'm wise — 

The wicked I will teach the way, 
Tho' I must stoop to rise. 

I also ask for glory here 

Soul merit garland — by the sod — 
Tho' I am gone, Earth's Heaven's near, 

A better world — and a better God. 



BY E. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 255 

LOVEES BE 

Biack! Back! Back to the place 

Where my heart grew ; 
Grew! Grew! Grew for the face, 

And for you. 

Dear ! Dear ! Dear was the word, 

All day long; 
Love ! Love ! Love could be heard, 

In our song. 

Yes ! Yes ! Yes, I will wait, 

Just we two; 
Then ! Then ! Then we will mate, 

I and you. 

Time ! Time ! Time now is due, 

Come to me ! 
Heart ! Heart ! Heart, if you're true, 

Lovers be. 

WORDS— THEIR MEANING INEFFABLE. 



a 



I love but you!" Think long upon the meaning 
To have from Cupid's bow such missiles hurled 
That wound the heart with love that knows no weaning, 
And be chosen from so many in the world. 

To every heart that tenants flesh called human, 
To every mind that's sensed love's latent lyre, 

To every soul on earth, both man and woman, 
That ever loved, has felt this smokeless fire. 

There is a thought no tongue can ever utter — 
It comes but once to every heart and life. 

They paint the world anew when lips they mutter 
The words "I love you !" "Yes !" and "Be my wife !" 



256 POEMS AND PLAYS 

The words are small, but the burden they can carry ! 

"No !" has caused a billion hearts to pine, 
While "Yes!" has caused a billion more to marry — 

The sequel to "I love you !" so sublime. 

Beneath the ashes warmth of old may smoulder, 
And wait again the breath of love that blew 

The spark to flames. The answer, when you ask her 
"Will you be mine?" Her "Yes, I love but you!" 



THOUGHTS IN AGE 

In the shadow of the sundown, 

At the moribund of day, 
W r hen my limbs are tired and run down, 

Hear my mintah ! Hear me pray ! 
O, the Pleiads in their splendor, 

Seen by Job, now seen by me, 
All this beauty to us tender, 

Transcendent thanks I offer thee. 
What I see in distance yonder, 

Can it be heaven's outer crest? 
It only makes my soul grow fonder, 

To enter there and view the rest. 
My pass- word, ah ! where is my passage? 

Gold 'tis said is not the toll, 
All may enter even steerage, 

When they're pure in heart and soul. 
The word of God will pilot ever, 

O'er the starlit, beaconed sea, 
Ferry thus will founder never, 

'Twill carry safely both you and me. 



BY H. L. C E A P I N, M. D. 257 

AURICULAR CONFESSION 

A growing weight upon my heart has fell — 

That's made me sad ; 
And still relief has recourse to the lips to tell — 

And make me glad — 
To tell to eyes and ears that listen well 

Why — I feel so bad. 

To relieve the mind Soul's functions must be free 

To flow at will; 
As does the stream down mountains to the sea 

O'er rocks and pebbles spill, 
And onward double force that is to be 

The force that grinds the mill. 

Nature grew the man — the Soul is there to guide — 

The Soul that we can grow ; 
For Nature's done its share, the rest it has denied 

To aid, for we're to know 
That we must knotv — to make it great and wide 

Let knowledge inward flow. 

Thy wisdom on and on to others teach and tell 

Give and you may take 
By use you feed the cell 

That keeps the soul awake, 
Both strong and well. 

So hear the words I say — 

My Soul shall be relieved. 
Forgive me this, I pray, 

Only self I have deceived; 
By locking in my heart 

A sinful burning coal, 



258 POEMS AND PLAYS 

That was only mine in part, 
And when Fve told the whole 

Again in life, I'll start 

For Confession heals the Soul. 



YOU'RE THE SHRINE OF MY WORSHIP 

You're the shrine of my worship, 

The light of my life ; 
You're my idol in pleasure, 

And supporter in strife. 
You're the theme of my poem ; 

In my prose you belong. 
You're the star of my drama 

And the tune of my song. 

In my study, you aid me, 

Though really away. 
You illumine the darkness 

And enlighten my way. 
In art you're my model, 

In religion, my Saint. 
Beauty easily written, 

Though harder to paint. 

You inspire all my pleasure, 

I'm harnessed in your yoke. 
You can excite me to glory, 

Or to sorrow provoke. 
You're with me when praying; 

You condone and condole. 
Though I have you in spirit, 

I want body and soul. 



BY H. L. C H A P I N, M. D. 259 

U 

My heart speaks out for you, 

And still you pass me by ; 
It knows you are for it, 

And it is I. 

The garland of the bards 

And of the poet's muse 
Are fragile wreaths of love, 

But the leaves are working loose. 

You swore by the glowing sun, 
As it bowed to me that night, 

That you'd be more true than it, 
And always be my light. 

What can its meaning be? 

Why should I ever known 
That love should fly to me 

And away so soon have flown? 

I have of you despaired. 

Why did you ever do? 
Perhaps you never cared 

As I have cared for you. 

By looking in my heart, 

If such the eyes could do, 
There's be the symboled dart 

Pierced in the letter U. 



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